Light in the Dark
by kidneythieves
Summary: Karen feels that the only men she loves are unlovable, and is still recovering from her last encounter with Frank Castle, whom she felt drawn to for so long. Frank is conflicted about his decision to hide his feelings from Karen, yet circumstances bring their lives back to together in a brutal, violent way. Warning: Violence, sex, romance, action, slow-burn.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Timeline is season 1-2 of Punisher (Karen & Frank moments). Season 3ish of Daredevil, which I based more off the comic book vs the show. This is _my_ love story of Frank & Karen. I wrote this for love of Kastle! It's been a looooong time since I wrote anything and decided that I needed a little action and romance in my life again- and who better than Kastle! **

****Story starts 6 months after Frank's rejection of Karen in season 2 of Punisher. His timeline is different from the show in this & Karen's timeline is mixed in with season 3 of Daredevil with Bulls-Eye & Fisk.**

**Warning: It's angsty, romantic, emo, dark, will have violence and sex. **

**Feel free to comment- but mostly, enjoy. **

* * *

**_Chapter 1: A Devil of a Death_**

_This is what death feels like_, Karen thought.

She attempted to inhale as her heart leapt in her chest and her pulse pounded in her ears. Her mind began to slow down and focus solely on the pain in her stomach, while her body seemed to be speeding up. Blood pumping, oxygen pushing through her gasping lungs, sweat gathering at the back of her neck and feet tingling.

She always wondered how she would die. Maybe it was because the profession she'd chosen. The friends she kept. Or just being born to eventually die. _We all die_, she thought, _now is my time._

A sudden shooting pain vibrated through her body, bringing her out of her thoughts and back to the place where she had fallen—slumped against the church alter. The warm tile of the church pressed against her lower back and legs, as she kicked out her feet weakly in attempt to sit up, except she couldn't. Not with the maroon cane skewering her insides.

She swallowed, tasting blood, unable to look down at the mortal wound.

"Karen!"

She heard his scream—his cry of anguish. But it didn't resonate. It didn't sink in like it should have. It felt distant and somehow surreal. Karen could only feel the pain. She was the pain.

Wasn't she suppose to feel shock? Wasn't her body and mind suppose to protect and shield her from this horrific agony she was experiencing? She vaguely recalled an article she read where stomach wounds were the most painful way to die. She cringed, holding back the tears, willing herself to stay awake—alert. The need to close her eyes felt like the most powerful pull in her life, like an anchor being pushed off a boat into dark waters. Sinking. Sinking deeper and further into the dark.

Without any ability to control her body, she slipped further down the alter and letting her body go slack.

She didn't hear him come to her, only suddenly she felt his strong hands slipping over her body and cradling her against his black shirt. He wasn't the Daredevil—he was a vigilant—Hell's Kitchen, with the help of Fisk has villainized Daredevil. Painted him as a murderer, a terrorist. Yet he was none of those things. He was the light this city still needed, no matter how hard Fisk attempted to snuff him out.

When Matt came back from the grave, he surprised them all. What Karen knew in her heart was that Matt would never give up Daredevil—even if it killed him. She respected his choice, mourned his death and left her ruined heart on the sidewalk as she went to work. Karen was not fated for Matt, no matter how hard she had tried at first to be with him. Matt was fated for the Devil.

"Matt…" she said huskily, her voice choking on the blood filling her mouth.

"It's all right… you'll be fine…" He said, yet she heard the shock—the terror edged his voice. She never knew Matt Murdock could feel fear. The vigilant of Hell's Kitchen that somehow dodged bullets, stopped bad guys with his fists and brutal kicks, the man that once took down Fisk and would do it again one day. The hero of a city that at times, didn't deserve him. She looked up at him now, into the black mask of the man she had once loved.

His face abruptly turned from aguish grief to contorted rage. Grief and rage. She had seen this expression before, but never on Matt… on someone else. Someone she suddenly—desperately wanted to see in this moment. Someone who she wasn't suppose to desire—to want—to know—to need. Someone who was too dark for this world, consumed by the very darkness that destroyed him.

_ Frank…_

"I…" she tried to speak. But the words gurgled on her tongue.

Karen felt instant regret. Regret for not living as fearlessly as she did as a journalist. She embodied bravery and courage, grit and endurance when it came to her profession. Yet her personal life—she was a failure. She was achingly alone. Coming home to an empty apartment with nothing waiting for her but the warm screen of her laptop and a couple cold beers in the fridge.

She yearned for connection. Burned for it. Yet did nothing. _No that's not true_, her mind protested, _I tried… I tried with him—with Frank, but he didn't want me._

Images of Frank came crashing down on her like a hard-hitting wave. She should've done more. Should've said more to him. Should've been honest with herself. Guilt racked her, as she bled out on the church tiles, wishing she could go back in time and kissed Frank Castle in the elevator. The day he saved her life, again. And the day she saved his from the police. They made a good team.

She pictured that day all so clearly, as if it were yesterday and not a year ago. She saw it now—his dark eyes filled with vulnerability and with… wanting. She remembered her body tensing in unexpected desire. They had just been through Hell together and all she wanted to do was close the space between them and kiss the lips that haunted her dreams for months. But she didn't. Instead he tilted his forehead into hers, somehow acknowledging he wasn't ready—she wasn't ready. The wanting growing taunt between them until she pushed away from him, unable to be so close to his fire, knowing it would consume her the second she touched it. It had been so long… so long…

She was desperate for his strength now. Frank could survive anything. So could she, she supposed. Heartache was a pain no words could describe. She somehow survived Frank's rejection, slipping further into her work, taking on more dangerous cases, as though looking for an excuse to not keep just surviving. Maybe she had wanted this. Her death.

The last time she saw Frank—he denied her. Bruised and battered lying in another hospital bed, Frank refused to hear her, refused to listen and take in what she said to him. He seemed broken anew and nothing could pull him back from the edge. Not even her admitting her feelings for him.

Her heart burned with a void less ache as she could still feel his rejection like it was yesterday. He was so consumed with his darkness, he couldn't see the light before him. A way out—with her. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

There was a shouting from outside—a man's taunting, cruel voice. The man that threw the cane at her with supernatural accuracy. Hitting his target, every target, to kill. Bulls-Eye. She shuddered, remembering the feel of the cane stab her in the gut and the feel of it now lodged deep into her stomach. The assassin, hired by Fisk, had stolen Matt's Daredevil suit and had been killing people in the city for days now. Matt had been pursuing him when they came into the church to fight. The church where Karen had been following a lead on a kidnapped child and possible sex trafficking ring.

She had literally been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Matt turned his head slightly, hearing Bulls-Eye beckoning him out—wanting the fight—wanting the Devil. _Let the Devil out…_

Except Matt would never kill. He didn't cross that line. He couldn't. Not like Frank. The man that breathed darkness and fire and spat it back out with a bullet.

Karen felt the shift in Matt as he cradled her head, stiffly kissing her forehead. She knew, felt it in the tension held taunt in his muscles, he wanted to take his rage out on the man that had killed her. Because, she was dead. This was it.

She stared up at him blankly, feeling the darkness pull at her, asking her like soft whispers to close her eyes and slip into the black. The black, empty nothingness that called to her like sirens_. Slip into these dark waters—it's okay—we'll make the pain go away… _

She reached up with the strength she had left and touched his forearm. "Go…"

"I can't leave you."

"Yeah… you can." She whispered, blood staining her lips. She suddenly realized that her other hand was gripping fiercely at the cane, as though to pull is out. But she couldn't. Not while he was here, she thought. Once he left her side, she'd yank it out and bleed out in this church. This godly place. If only she believed in God. Then maybe she'd believe in the miracle of being saved in this moment. But the harsh, cold reality of it—no one could survive this.

And she certainly wouldn't die with Daredevil's cane inside her. She didn't want him to blame himself. It wasn't his fault. She wouldn't die being killed by Daredevil.

Frank's face startled her as it flashed before her memory like a beacon in the darkness surrounding her. Karen let out an agonized moan because she would never see him again.

_ Frank… you son of a bitch… I should've kissed you…maybe you wouldn't have denied me so easily… _

Matt slowly lowered her back against the alter, careful not to hurt her anymore. She saw the tears slip from beneath his black mask. He cried for her. She didn't realize he cared that much. He never showed it. And when he finally did tell her the truth, when he finally stopped lying, it had been too late. Her heart was too broken to heal from what happened between them. Her hope for having anything more than a friendship was long gone.

Funny, she realized, she had fallen in love with two very different men in her lifetime. One, who she considered was a lost boy in the dark, trying to give himself purpose and passion by becoming the protector of a city in crisis. The other… she inhaled weakly. He was the darkness and sought justice with murderous violence. Matt the hero, Frank—the villain.

Her love life in article form could win a Pulitzer, she thought harshly, tears streaking down her cheeks.

Matt stood over her, withdrawing completely from her.

"I'll stay with her," an old weathered voice said from behind him. A nun emerged from the shadows. She had taken cover between the pews when the fighting had started. She had a kind face, Karen thought.

"Thank you, Sister Maggie." Matt whispered. "I'll come back for her…"

"I know. Go—that monster deserves your justice."

Matt looked down at her once more. He seemed to want to say something—conflicted and shaken—yet the Devil seemed to deny him his voice as he abruptly turned and ran toward the double doors of the church. Ready to unleash his wrath—his Hell.

The second the doors slammed shut, the nun gazed down at her and the wound. She seemed to sense that death was near for her and took her hand, squeezing firmly. "Don't you even think about it, Miss Page. I won't allow it. And neither will God. Not in his house." The nun's reassuring words were hollow and meaningless to her now. Sister Maggie paused, turning her head to shout, "Luca! Come out of hiding, boy. It's safe and I need you."

Karen felt herself being pulled deeper… deeper. She would die amongst strangers. Her throat clenched as tears ran uncontrollably now. She had nothing left to give or live for.

It had been so long since she had loved or been loved, that she had forgotten the feeling. Neither man she had fallen in love with had loved her back. Maybe something was wrong with her for loving the unlovable. Maybe because she feared that truth about herself. That no one wanted her. No one loved her. Her family didn't. She had nothing and no one to lose. The only time a man loved her… she stopped the thought before it started. No, she would not think of him, not now, not in her time of dying. He didn't deserve her final thoughts.

Her hand gripped around the cane. The darkness comforted her now…the whispering sirens telling her to give in and let go… Without thinking, Karen ripped the cane from her body and let out a scream. She didn't want the world to think Daredevil killed her…

Sister Maggie's shadowed face was the last she saw before slipping off into the arms of death's sirens, deciding she had enough pain in one lifetime. A heart could only take so much.

_**TBC**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2: Room for One More**_

Frank sat at his usual spot at Sal's diner. It was the only joint that opened early enough for his liking. He hated them commercial shops and quickie coffee stops. Everyone was always in a big fuckin' hurry and he didn't understand it. It frustrated him to watch all those sheep in line, crushed up against one another, on their god damned phones, too busy to make chit chat with those pressed up against their back in line.

_Bunch of caffeine addicted assholes_, he thought, sipping his hot coffee.

He pulled the rolled-up newspaper from his back pocket and tossed it on his table. Karen had a story published on Tuesday, and it was only Friday. He knew that he wouldn't read her words—hear her voice in his head as he read it—until next week sometime for another article from the brilliant, sexy, fiery Karen Page. He hummed.

The first thing he had bought from his government payoff, was a subscription to her newspaper. He wanted to read what his girl was up to.

_His girl…_ The thought made him flinch. Who was he kidding, she wasn't _his_ girl. Shame washed over him, as he rubbed a hand over his face. He lied to her that day in the hospital, that day she came for him, to be by his side and comfort him. And he told himself it was to protect her. That her feelings were delusional—wrong. Because he was wrong for her.

She deserved better than some battered, damaged, murderous Vet. She deserved a King. A man who could take care of her properly—lovingly. He could barely tolerate himself these days. His therapist encouraged him to work on forgiving himself. It was a bunch of bullshit. And to his therapist's credit, he never stopped trying with Frank.

Frank justified his inability to forgive himself. After all the shit he did, he didn't deserve love. He deserved a bullet through the skull.

He sighed inwardly. Besides, he rationalized, he hadn't even spoken to Karen in almost 6 months. He'd seen her though, he thought darkly, unrolling the newspaper, vividly recalling his last trip to Hell's Kitchen. A trip he took at random with little thought or planning. All he knew was that he wanted to see her. Catch a glimpse of the woman who he burned for.

It didn't take much for him to track her down. He had followed, at an inconspicuous distance, to her gym. He waited across the street a few hours, deciding to walk her home safely to her apartment only five blocks away. He remembered with perfect clarity how she emerged from the gym—a light, exhausted smile on her face. Her hair pulled back away from her neck into a messy bun. Sweat glistening off her pale skin in the dimming sunlight of the day. His heart tripled in his chest at the mere sight of her. Damn she was breath-taking. He couldn't take his eyes off her. No man on the street seemed unaffected by her glow either as she headed home, her gym bag slung over her shoulder, tight black leggings clinging to her lean, tall legs. Frank shifted at the memory, feeling the stirrings in his gut and more. He felt like a total scumbag, lusting after her—following her home like some pervert.

If only he had the courage to say something to her… reach out to her… to apologize… tell her the truth…

His mind rationalized again, _I'm too dangerous for her. I'm no fuckin' good. She's an angel compared to me and doesn't deserve the hellish blood on my soul. Keeping her safe means staying away… far…far away._

Sally, his waitress and friend, momentarily distracted him as she smiled down at him with a fresh pot of coffee in hand, filled his cup and kept on walking. Sally was Sal's wife and best waitress in town in Frank's opinion. She had stopped taking Frank's order months ago because he came in almost daily. The second he walked in the door now, the cook already knew what he wanted. Two eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. Simple. Easy.

He thanked her and opened the paper. All death, crime and mayhem in the city that never sleeps and the kitchen from Hell. Frank was the only customer still and liked it like that. He could relax. He knew he was getting better though. He could tolerate assholes now without taking their heads off. He could walk into a grocery store without darting down every isle like a crazy man looking for an enemy to spring out and ambush him. Hell, he'd even stopped carrying his gun—well, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was a start. And he only did it because his therapist suggested it.

He'd been working on his grief. Got himself a real therapist and went to Curtis's support group weekly. A hundred hours of therapy would give anyone clarity. Support group two hours twice a week, and one to two hours with Jory a week. For Frank it finally gave him some relief and best of all—a safe place to release of his pent-up emotions. He could grieve the loss of his wife and children properly. Love them, accept their deaths even, and miss them without resorting to violence. He appreciated his patient therapist, whom seem to have the resilience of a fuckin' armor truck to all Frank's bullshit. He thanked the man after every session. Knowing that Frank Castle, the man that was the Punisher—was not an easy client.

Though his last session put Frank on his toes again. Jory, his therapist, an older Indian man and veteran, said in his slow and precise tone, "I think it's time Frank."

"Time for what," he asked, sitting forward now on the edge of his seat. Was Jory ending their therapy? Had he progress so much he was terminating? No, Frank had rationalized. He still needed more work, more time understanding his shit…

"Time for you to live."

Frank sat back. "I don't know what you mean."

Jory shot him a smirking frown, "You don't?"

"Nah, no idea. I thought I was livin'."

"Living in the past, sure. You've done tremendous work so far on getting out of the grief that crippled you—that created the Punisher. But you haven't done much in the present to show me that you have a life."

"I live in the present every day, Jory. I'm here, today. Not dead in some fuckin' ditch with a bullet in my skull."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then how 'bout you enlighten me," Frank snapped defensively.

Jory set his notepad and pen down on his coffee table and folded his hands across his lap. "It's time you talked to her."

Frank stilled. Karen's goddamned beautiful smile taunting him in his memory. He could still feel the way she pulled him in for those glorious hugs of her. He could stay in that warmth—that love all day and night if he could. And damn him to hell when he heard her whisper her feelings to him that day in the hospital… he nearly lost his soul to that angel. Would've given anything to wipe away his sins and accept what she was willing to give him. But his hands were dirty, he would taint her, ruin what she was- is. He couldn't risk that. He wouldn't.

He debated playing dumb with Jory but his therapist would read right through that. He never could beat Jory's bullshit-detector.

"I can't." Frank's voice suddenly came out gruffer, unexpected emotion filling him.

Jory leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped between them. "You can."

"I can't bring her into my life. She…" he hesitated. "I can't risk that."

"Risk—love is risk. We all innately know this. It is why when we have feelings for someone, we share them, even at the risk of our own hearts."

The memory of her words burned into him like a hot iron still from the hospital. He clenched his fists together, the pain on her face—god damnit, it stung. It hurt so deep it felt as though he were bleeding internally, his heart sliced opened. He did that to her. Hurt her. Denied her.

Jory continued, "The part of you that is telling you that you can't, is doubt. Doubt that you are healing. Doubt that you can be happy again. But you can. And I am positive that you will be, Frank. But you must start. You're good at rationalizing and justifying all the reasons you can't or won't—but that's the fear talking. Not you. Not your heart."

Frank's teeth ground to ash in his mouth as he said, "She took more than her fair share of chances with me and every single time I blew it. I'm no good to her—to anyone. She's safer without me around, than with me. She deserves better than my bullshit."

"Maybe. Maybe not. You will never know unless you try, Frank. And be honest with her, more importantly, yourself."

Frank reflected on Jory's words. What harm could come from just asking her out for a coffee, he wondered? Or maybe a nice place—he knew a good Korean spot near his apartment she'd probably like… Yeah right, he thought bitterly, if anything she had every right to slap him across the face and tell him to fuck off after what he did.

Sally interrupted his thoughts, sliding the full plate of breakfast before him. "Here ya go, honey." She sauntered away but not before another touch up on his coffee.

Frank sighed, he knew his head-shrinker was right. Called Frank out on his shit, once again. And whenever Jory did, Frank had either a meltdown or a break through. Both were somehow good in his therapists' eyes.

He took a bite of his eggs and couldn't even taste it. His thoughts continuously pulling him back to Karen. Karen Page. Damn he missed her. To see her smile walking out of the gym. To see the furrow of concentration still on her brows after leaving the office. Hear her voice as she hailed a taxi. God, Frank realized, he had it bad.

So bad, he felt like he was in fuckin' high school again, beatin' his cock every morning and every night like some horny teen. It felt like it was only getting worse—this desire—this need to see her. Karen was so much more than beautiful to him. It was as if she glowed somehow—he felt it the day he met her in the hospital. Felt her spark of fire and warmth, seeming to shield him from the bullshit of the world with unexpected kindness and compassion. Things he hadn't felt since his wife died.

She possessed an unwavering strength that kept her going when everything else fell down around her. Her tenacity and spirit pulled at him. Kept him interested and intrigued at first by this ferocious woman. Over time Karen proved to be one of his biggest allies, friends and… his heart raced and he swallowed. He wanted more than a friendship with Karen Page. He wanted her in his bed, kissing her ivory skin, touching her soft hair, smelling her, holding her, tasting her…

Karen made him feel vulnerable. And that scared the living daylights outta him.

At first he tore himself up about desiring another woman. How dare he betray the memory of his wife and what they had. But he knew Maria would want him happy—he felt it the day he nearly died, strapped to a chair, being tormented by the man who murdered his family. She wanted him to make a choice—and he did. He stayed.

Jory helped him understand that moment and Frank's decision, he wasn't dishonoring his wife's memory, he was honoring himself. Because Frank's life mattered too. He could love his wife and his family. But he could also love another, his heart was big enough for that—or at least that's what he slowly began to see. He loved the guys that came to the support group and shared their stories. He loved his closet friend Curtis—loved David and his family. He made room for all these people. Except Karen.

His jaw flexed at the thought. It was time, he thought, it was time he made room for one more.

"Breaking news tonight out of Hell's Kitchen…" Frank felt his attention pulled and glanced over to the TV that hung over the cash register. "A Daily Bulletin Reporter has gone missing and is presumed dead." He felt his breath catch, waiting for the next words as though someone had a knife to his throat. Then he felt it, the knife sliding across his jugular and ripping out his lungs as a picture of his girl—his Karen—flashed across the screen. "Karen Page, a reporter for the Daily Bulletin. Reports say she was last seen entering Saint Mary's Catholic Church on Friday night. Police have taped off the area, saying it is an active crime scene, as Page's blood was found inside the church, but a body has yet to be discovered. Police revealed that a bloodied maroon cane was found at the scene—sources say it belongs to none other than Daredevil."

Frank was on his feet, slammed cash on the table and ran for the door.

"Pete! You haven't finished your breakfast—sweetie, where you goin' in a hurry?" Sally asked.

"To find my girl." He announced as the door to the diner swung closed behind him.

Frank rounded the block to his black van parked on the street. Before he even unlocked the door and got in, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The picture on the screen of his phone was of David and his family during Christmas. Frank had taken the picture and kept it.

He answered, "I can't talk right now…"

"I heard the news… I'm tracking Karen's phone now." David interrupted.

Frank's chest tightened in relief. He was suddenly grateful to his friend.

He heard furious typing and clicking in the background. "All right… I have it pinged at—damnit, the police station in Hell's Kitchen. Her phone must have been left at the church and collected for evidence."

Frank started the van and began to head towards Hell's Kitchen. He may not have her location yet, but he needed answers. He needed to find her.

_Jesus_, he thought, _what happened Karen?_ What if he was too late—what if she was dead? His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, twisting like a sharp blade. He would find out what happened and why the fuck Daredevil's cane was covered in Karen's blood. If Red had anything to do with her death—he would kill him.

"Okay—I've hacked into the street cameras surrounding the church. Looks like one hellvau fight took place outside and inside…" David muttered and cursed in disbelief.

"What?!" Frank asked impatiently.

"Sorry—it's just the way Daredevil and this guy in black are fighting—I've never seen anything like this before. They seem intent on murdering each other with their fists"

"Can you get a good look at the guy in black?"

"No—the top half of his face is covered."

Frank's jaw flexed and his foot pushed down on the accelerator.

"They eventually leave the camera shot, should I track them?"

"No—stay with the church. Karen's who I want," he breathed into the phone. His hand gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening, his mind exploding in furious curses. What the hell was he thinking…? Leaving her unprotected! He knew the dangers of this city—knew her profession and who she was, with a tendency to get into trouble. _Damnit Karen_, he thought bitterly, _you better be alive—I can't lose you too—I won't lose you._

Frank refused to go down this path though. Refused to believe she was dead or dying somewhere. Karen was tough. She had been through things most wouldn't come out alive from. She may look fragile, but she could hold it together. _Hold it together, baby. I'm coming for you…_

"Okay… it looks like there's a church van that pulls out of the parking lot a few minutes later. I'm tracking the license plate." He paused, "This might take a while, Frank. I'll call you back when I find the van."

"Thank you, David."

"Of course. I know you care about her, man. What are you going to do in the meantime?"

"Visit an old friend…"

_**TBC**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: A Hero in the Dark**

Karen felt the pain and then—nothing. It was as if she were drifting off to sleep. She would see flashes of things—the church, the night sky above and then darkness. The next time she awoke from this drifting feeling was of a bright light baring down on her, but not a spiritual light—a light from a lamp and voices, people talking above her in urgency. Suddenly she was struck with pain and then, back to the cool, calm drift of her mind.

_Karen_…

His voice whispered huskily into her ear and she awoke, searching for that familiar, roughly handsome face. But Frank wasn't there in this dark place. In this black, empty nothingness. She called out into the void, "Frank?!"

No response.

"Frank…"

Silence. Echoing, harsh silence.

Karen swallowed, hugging her arms around her body, feeling utterly lost in this place. This darkness. It was then she saw another flash of the spotlight lamp above her, the sudden feelings of pain wrenching at her body and unfamiliar voices…

This was it, she realized. She was dying and there was nothing she could do but wait for it. Wait for it to end. She should've been surprised her last thoughts were of him, even in this dark place. But she wasn't. Frank Castle had been the only man in her life that had truly seen her. Believed in her abilities and trusted her decisions—despite the risks she took. She had been doted and sheltered by the others around her—Matt, Foggy, her editor. All men telling her who to be, how to behave, to dim her light…

But not Frank. He simply accepted her, though reluctant of her strong-will at first, and once he relented only told her one thing, _Be careful_. He never asked her to dim her light for anyone or anything. She would always be grateful for that.

"Frank…" She whispered again, feeling the goosebumps erupt over her flesh, wishing she could go back to that last moment with him and kissed his lips—kissed him—God! Slapped him across the face and then kissed some sense into him for giving up before even trying with her. She felt such anger, regret… flashes of a bright white light filling her vision and agonizing pain in her stomach startled her out of her emotions.

The darkness drifting over her once more and there, she waited. Waited for life—or death.

* * *

Frank knew where he lived. Matt the Daredevil Murdock was not as good as he thought when it came to hiding in the dark. Not like Frank. Frank was the dark. Breathed it, fed it, killed in it. Once someone touches the edge—embraces that darkness—it becomes them. Red always played it safe. Never venturing too far inside that deep, endless abyss. He crawled out when the daylight came and turned his mask in for sunglasses and a cane. There was a part of Frank that envied that. The part that wished he never got lost in the dark. Except he did. And he was only now trying to climb his way out.

He knew about Red was Matt Murdock, the blind attorney that fought the legit way for justice during the day. Frank kept distance though, knowing Red had his own shit to figure out and didn't need him fuckin' anything up anymore. He even knew about the fling between his girl and Red. Luckily, Murdock was a walking mess and seemed to fuck that up all on his own.

Frank would have felt jealous of that relationship, had it not been for everything that had happened between Karen and him since—her coming to his aid finding Mirco, aka, David. Her saving him from the NYPD by faking her own kidnapping to save his life. And the moment on the bridge, demanding him to have an 'after'. Damn, that moment 'bout near changed his life. The after—the life that he finally got once all his carnage and revenge was over. To finally live again.

Frank could only ever imagine that after with her. Only her. That night though, he couldn't see it. Wasn't ready to see her—them. He was too caught up in his mind, in his trauma—his pain. Yet he saw her glow. Her warmth, her tears and something deep inside him opened for the first time, shifting beneath the dirt, coming alive. He remembered pressing his lips against her wet cheek, inhaling her sweet scent, wishing he could give her more but knew he was so damned broken. And she knew it too.

But things happen in this life, people change and grow, and the unexpected happen too, like death. _No_, he thought warningly. _She ain't dead. She's too fuckin' tough for that… I have unfinished business with her… _Red got his lady involved in something that hurt her. And he couldn't have that. He had to find her now before anything else touched her.

He climbed the steps into Murdock's apartment complex and was at his door within seconds, he picked the lock, inviting himself inside.

He heard arguing voices and recognized them immediately.

"Christ, Matt!" Foggy, the attorney Murdock once worked with and took Frank's case on, voice now echoed in the apartment. "You can barely stand—let alone go looking for her!"

"Foggy, I have to…" Murdock whispered dramatically, "It's my fault—I should've protected her, should've told her what was coming. I didn't think Fisk would go after either of you—that's why I did this, that's why I went out on my own to keep you all safe. But I was selfish…I should've known him better…"

"I couldn't have said it better myself." Frank retorted rounding the corner of the hallway, leaning against the beam, facing the two men. Frank was momentarily confused to see Matt, dressed in all black and not the Daredevil suit. Hadn't David told him that Daredevil was in a fight with a man in black just outside the church? Why wasn't Murdock in red?

"Castle?!" Foggy asked, astounded, his hands gesturing upwards in helpless defeat as he muttered a curse. "Jesus…!"

Murdock was sprawled out on the couch, a broken and bloodied mess. His black half mask soaked in blood on the floor. The beating he had taken left him high and dry. Murdock attempted to sit up, Frank shook his head at him, disgusted. "Don't bother getting up."

"What are you doing here?" the blind attorney with a black and blue face demanded. Frank wondered if his nose was broken. Good, he thought. He should be in a world of hurt right now for letting Karen get wounded—and kidnapped.

"Where's Karen?"

Foggy straightened, his grey suit wrinkled and the bags under his eyes shown his lack of sleep and immense stress. Frank had seen men pushed to the edge like this, especially in war. Foggy looked two breaths away from blowing up or caving in, Frank couldn't figure it out nor did he care. Foggy can snap, crackle, and pop for all the good it did. He wasn't here for their bullshit—he was here for Karen.

"We don't know. We don't know who took her." Foggy blurted out anxiously. "Are you here to help?"

Frank shot him a dark look and merely nodded.

"We don't know where she is yet, Foggy." Murdock countered bitterly.

Frank snapped his gaze to the Devil now, cutting and direct. "Tell me what you got her into, Red. And if you lie to me, I'll beat the other half of your face in."

Foggy gaped, "You know he's Daredevil?"

Murdock stiffened, Frank ignored the lawyer. "This doesn't concern you, Frank," was all Red managed to conquer up.

Frank decided to ignore this as well, as he asked another question. "Why was your weapon covered in her blood? What did you do her?"

Murdock looked away instantly, shame washing over him. "It wasn't me—I would never…" His voice cracked momentarily before he regained control and finally sat up, his body moving painfully slow as he swung his feet down to the floor and stood. He wobbled but didn't fall. "Fisk—the Kingpin, he stole my suit months ago. Hired Bulls-Eye to kill me and gave him my suit to bloody Daredevil's hands and make it seem like I killed… including Karen."

Frank was all too aware of the all-powerful mighty Fisk. He made himself known to Castle while in prison together. Fisk attempting to aligned with the most brutal killer locked up in the same house. Except the Punisher wasn't for sale.

"Does Fisk have her?" Franked breathed.

Murdock shook his head, "I don't think so."

"How would you know?" Frank challenged. "You left her there to die alone to finish your fuckin' grudge match."

"How dare you! I stayed with her as long as I could… she was dying—there was nothing I could do!"

Foggy's breath caught in emotion and he turned his back to them, hiding his tears.

"Nothin' you could do?" Frank stepped forward, enraged. "You left Karen to die, you worthless piece of shit…! If you were man enough, you would've killed Fisk a long time ago, instead of letting that monster back out on our streets to terrorize our city. But all you do is hit them with your fuckin fists and sticks. But when I hit them—they stay down."

An unexpected fury flashed in the Devil's eyes as he stepped towards him, fists clenched, ready for a fight. "You're right!"

Frank tilted his head curiously.

Foggy stared, shocked. "You can't be serious Matt."

"Deadly," he breathed. "Frank's right. I should've killed Fisk."

"What happened to justice—to not sinking to their level and becoming just like them?" Foggy retorted.

"And what good has that done, Foggy? Karen's missing—probably dead now because I couldn't stop him. I couldn't. The only way to stop a man like that is to…"

Frank finished for him, "Shot'em."

"Stop—stop the both of you." Foggy protested. "I can't listen to this anymore. And I don't believe you Matt," his voice shook as he said, "You don't believe it either. You're saying this now because of what happened to Karen…"

"Am I?" He replied darkly.

Foggy grabbed his suitcase on the counter, his movements jerky and uncontrolled. "Karen wouldn't want this…"

Frank pondered this statement and something deep down inside him, doubted it. Karen was much more than any of them truly knew. He had sensed it the day he met her. She may have been a spitfire hellion, but she was a deadly one. He knew death well and he felt it on her. Karen had taken a life. But she didn't reveal that secret to anyone, especially the men in her life who maintained and believed her image of innocence.

Before Foggy brushed past him to the door, he stilled and shot daggers at Frank. "Why are you even here anyway?"

He said nothing to this. He could barely admit it to himself he wanted her—needed her. Frank felt his stomach muscles tighten and his breath catch in his throat, showing no emotion to the lawyer. Foggy was a smart man and read his silence like the intelligent attorney he was and shook his head is dismay. "She deserves better than you two…" With that, he left, slamming the door behind him.

"Why are you here, Frank?" It was Murdock's turn to asked. Red seemed interested in why the Punisher was in his apartment, demanding answers to Karen Page.

"Karen's helped me out of a bind or two. The least I can do is return the favor."

Murdock seemed to be somehow studying him, reading his words or maybe listening to his heartbeat, Frank didn't know. Either way—it was the truth, sorta. It wasn't any of Murdock's concern on his intentions with Karen. Or feel obligated to tell him the truth.

"What'd you do to the man that hurt her?" Franked demanded. "Hopefully he's worse off than you right now?"

Murdock nodded, breathing in deeply. "I handled it. He's in custody."

"You can justify giving him up to the cops, but not Fisk."

"Why shoot the messenger?" Matt challenged back, "When the man who sent the message is the true villain."

"What else haven't you told me," Frank demanded.

Murdock shrugged and let out a sigh, "I've told you everything…"

"Were you the last person with her…?" He asked, thinking about the van—the church.

Murdock paused, "No…" His own mind seeming to race. "I left her with a friend."

"Who?"

"Sister Maggie."

* * *

Sister Maggie sat besides Karen Page's bed, praying. She had prayed for hours now. She had been praying during surgery too. She may have overestimated her abilities as a former doctor turned nun. Maggie had recently pulled off a miracle by saving the life of a man after he was crushed by a building a few months earlier. Miss Page's wound was deep in the gut and bled for much too long. Luckily, they had enough donor blood to spare and keep this young woman's heart beating for a little while longer.

She had heard of Karen Page—read her news articles in the paper—heard her challenged the crazed bomber on the radio—and even remember her picture from the paper a few years ago, sitting besides none other than the notorious terrorist of New York City, The Punisher, Frank Castle. Miss Page had been on the legal team that defended The Punisher.

Maggie sat back in her chair and eyed the woman carefully. Miss Page had called out several times during surgery to a man named… Frank.

Curious, she thought. She wondered if it was Miss Page that gravitated towards danger, or that danger gravitated towards her? If so, Maggie intended to keep this woman safe and hidden. Karen Page had done much for Hell's Kitchen in her brief time as a reporter. She had exposed everything from police corruption, sex trafficking and even brought down Fisk while only a secretary at Matt Murdock's law firm.

Karen Page was a hero. A hero that didn't hide her face or use violence. She wrote. And in doing so, she exposed herself to the world. That took true courage in Maggie's opinion. She had every intention to protect this brave beacon of light and hope from whatever dark forces wanted her. Well, at least while she was under her care and in the house of God. Karen was unconscious still and all Maggie could do was wait. Wait for a miracle.

_**TBC**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Hope you are enjoying the story so far. Slow-burn- but trust me, it'll heat up. **

**Plz comment & enjoy the next chapter**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Frank sat parked a few blocks from St. Mary's church, waiting anxiously to hear from David. He had left Matt Murdock's place less than an hour ago. The Daredevil was useless to him now with the whole city believing he was a murderer. Or at least until the cops figure out that Fisk planted a fake Daredevil to cause havoc on the city streets. Red might as well have a target painted on his back in Frank's mind. Besides that, Murdock was beat to shit and could barely walk. He didn't need or want his help. Not after failing Karen so epically.

"Useless…" he muttered to himself. He too felt useless. The clock was ticking. Her life was on the line—he needed to know she was alive. Safe.

His fingers gripped the steering wheel and he felt his boiling rage tap at his insides, desperate to get out and rip this city to fuckin' shreds to find her. He told himself for the past six months that he would not resort to violence—that he was a changed man, that he would use his words first, not his fists. He was in therapy, had a group of supportive friends, and created a small life for himself. But here he was, his van fully stocked and loaded with enough guns and ammo to take out Homeland Security.

He really wanted to pummel Red a few times too. But instead, pity got the best of him. Red was doing his own internal beatdown over loosing Karen, he saw it in his tormented black and blue face that had just gone through the meat grinder.

He got all the information he could about Sister Maggie from him and took off to her church, St. Mary's, the last place Karen was seen alive. Except he couldn't get within ten feet, it was surrounded by reporters, cops and flashing cameras.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was David. _Finally…!_

"I found the van."

Frank felt the air slowly leave his lungs in a long sigh.

David gave him the location, "It's a convalescent home for nuns, Frank. Be gentle, will ya? It's just a bunch of retired old nuns in there."

"Yeah, we'll see." He hung up, punched the address in his map app and pealed around the corner. Karen was close. He could feel it in his bones.

Frank arrived in minutes to the retired community of nuns, slipped his long black trench coat over his body, hiding the small armory he had packed on him. Frightening old ladies wasn't the plan, but if he had to push them outta his way—he wouldn't hesitate.

The home looked like a senior retirement community, except they all wore black with their hoods up or hair pulled back in a severe bun. He entered the unlocked double doors to the building and was greeted by a nun, sitting behind the greetings/helping desk.

She looked up from her paperback book, her wrinkled face pinched in a questioning expression. "Can I help you, dear?"

"I'm lookin' for someone."

"Who may that be?"

"Sister Maggie. She here?"

The nun hesitated and slowly nodded. "I believe so, let me call her for you. May I ask whose calling?"

Frank paused and finally said, "Pete."

He listened carefully to the nun's call and after a second, she hung up and smiled plainly at him. "She's on her way. Would you like some tea or water while you wait?"

"No thank you, ma'am."

She merely nodded and returned her attention to her book.

Frank wasn't sure if he should be prepared for an ambush, or if this place was as innocent as it appeared on the outside. It didn't matter though. His muscles were tense, blood pumped soundly in his ears and his jaw clenched for a fight.

The door to the hallway beyond the waiting room finally opened. A single older, brown and grey haired, Hispanic woman emerged. She was tiny yet that didn't stop her striding walk inside. She was surprisingly pretty for a nun too, he thought. She seemed to hold herself with confidence and something else… something strong and sure.

She locked eyes with him and stilled next to the desk, her brown eyes riveted to his face. "Good afternoon, Pete…? Was it?" She asked carefully, already seeming to disbelieve his name.

"Yes, ma'am. I was wondering if you could help me out with something."

Her eyebrows raised curiously, "Of course. Anything we sisters can provide, we should like to try—that's our motto. Even in our older, not as capable age."

He smiled flatly at her. "That's kind of you. I heard that you worked at St. Mary's Catholic Church the night my friend went missing. Karen Page. Have you heard of her? Or… seen her by chance?"

"Oh that poor girl. I've heard of nothing else on the news today. I am so sorry to hear that you two were friends—and that she's gone missing." Her hand flickered over her heart in an empathic gesture of sorrow. He resisted the urge to clench his fists.

"So you haven't seen her?"

"No. Unfortunately I have not."

He nodded, not believing her for a second, even if she were a nun.

"See that's real interesting, considering that the van parked in your back lot right now, that was spotted at the church last night and it drove directly here—no where else. So I think you may know more than you're lettin' on Sister."

She empathic expressed turned to a knowing smile, her eyes flicking intelligently over him and then to the sister behind the desk. "Sister Margret…?" She asked kindly to the older nun, who was no longer reading but instead riveted to the drama playing out in the office. "Would you mind giving us a few moments?"

Sister Margret suddenly nodded and flushed in embarrassment, "Oh- of course, Sister Maggie. Of course. I'll be right outside…"

Frank and Sister Maggie waited for the woman to go. His heart beat a little faster, feeling so close to Karen—so damned close he could sense her somewhere in the building.

"Where is she?" he asked—no demanded.

Maggie seemed unimpressed by his command. "I don't trust strangers so easily—especially whose names don't seem to fit them."

He shrugged, "Can't help the name my mama gave me."

She narrowed her eyes. "You seem very familiar to me, sir. I feel like I have seen your face—in a newspaper perhaps."

He said nothing, calling her bluff.

"I'd say you look strikingly similar to that man they deemed a terrorist… Frank something."

"Sounds like an unfortunate coincidence." He muttered.

"How unfortunate indeed for you, Frank. Excuse me, Pete…"

"All right cut the bullshit. Where's Karen? I know she's here."

The nun's expression hardened, her arms folding against her chest. "I have no idea what you are talking about, sir."

He stepped forward now, loosing all patience. He needed to see his girl, make sure she was okay—and damnit he would burn the world down just to know she was safe.

"I need… I need to see her. And you really don't want me to force my way inside. It'll be easier for everyone if you just showed me to her, Sister."

She hesitated, her serious dark eyes scanning his face, as if searching for something. "Do you care for Miss Page, Pete?"

The muscle in his jaw flexed.

"It's a simple question," she said airily. "You care for her or you don't. So far I believe the only person Miss Page may care for is someone by the name of Frank."

His heart stilled.

"That's who she's been calling out to the last hour—after surgery. Now you are either him or you're not. If you are not—leave my property. If you are, I will honor your request and take you to her."

He didn't miss a beat as he opened his trench coat, revealing the guns strapped to his body. "My name is Frank Castle."

She eyed the guns but did not seem nervous. Instead her strength only grew. "Perfect. Now if you would be so kind as to remove those weapons from my grounds and then I will give you permission to see her."

He nodded and was out the door, running to his van. He stripped the guns from his body in seconds, tossing his trench coat inside, locking the door behind him as he jogged back. Frank was dressed in simple dark blue jeans, military black boots and black t-shirt.

Sister Maggie was waiting for him at the door, a small knowing smile on her thin lips, her expression seemed satisfied by the transformation and held out her hand upon his entrance. "Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Castle. A friend of Miss Page's, is a friend of mine—and our city."

He accepted her hand, a weight dropping into his stomach. "How is she?"

"Recovering."

_**TBC**_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Karen's dreams were vivid and real, memories of her past. She was standing at the foot of her mother's grave, a simple white rose in her hands. She was only six years old. The sorrow, the pain she felt, stung at her very soul. It was then she felt the hand of her father enclose over her tiny shoulder, her hand fearfully gripped the rose stem and she flinched. The torn on the stem pinched her skin and drew blood. The red dot of blood forming on her finger seemed so dark against the grey sky and her ivory white skin.

Her memory- her dream jumped forward. She was eight now, and her report card had just come home. Her father, similar reddish blond hair read the poor grades and without a word, began unbuckling his belt. Adrenaline stiffened her body into a ridged stance, she smelled the booze coming off his bones, and the familiar disconnecting of her mind—refusing to keep her present for the pain she was about to endure. She watched in absolute terror as he drew the belt taunt and beckoned her into the kitchen. Karen let out a cry of anguish as the belt struck her back, her bottom, the back of her legs. Violence had always been apart of her life. She knew violent men. She seen the darkness, lived in it and became it.

Her next memory propelled her forward once more. This time, it was college graduation night… Fear and pain connected all these memories. Memories she tried to bury and avoid her entire adult life. It took a near-death-experience to bring them back with startling clarity. Karen was 22 years old again and trapped in her apartment, her graduation gown ripped from her body, whimpering in pain, pleading for her life. Brilliant green eyes stared down at her, empty, emotionless, enjoying her desperation, her pain. His strength scared her as his fingers gripped hard, bruising into her wrists, pinning her down onto the bed. The ferocity of him. The power of him.

Karen gasped for air, her face being pushed into the pillows. She cried out over and over—but no one heard her. No one ever heard her. No one saved her.

_ "Karen…" _

A voice, unfamiliar in this moment—this memory, came floating over her.

_ "Karen… it's okay. You're okay…"_

The voice attempted to reassure her, but she wasn't okay! She was hurting, he was hurting her. She screamed again, eyes blurring with tears against the pillow, nearly suffocating.

_ "I'm here, baby I'm here… wake up for gods sake, please!" _

Karen gasped, lungs burning for air and her eyes shot open, body flinging upwards to fight—fighting off the nightmarish memory that came hurtling back like a bullet to the heart. Warm, strong hands grabbed her instantly as though trying to catch her, touching her face, her skin. The hands felt familiar, so achingly familiar. Her gaze came into focus and met the eyes of the man she tried to love. Her heart ached at the sight of him. He had been the voice in her memory trying to wake her up.

"Frank…" she whimpered in a horse groan. Her throat felt raw from screaming.

"You're safe. No one's gonna hurt you now. I'm here." His eyes burned into hers, his tone firm, the hand on the back of her neck tightened attempting to steady her. "You're okay…"

Before she had time to process his words, pain shot up her side into her stomach, she gasped and cried out.

"Sit back, dear." A woman's calming voice said over her. Karen let herself be guided back down to a lying position.

Her face felt wet, she realized then she had been crying.

"The sedative wore off," the woman dressed as a nun said. That was the woman who stood over her now. Her soft voice and comforting presence nodded down at her. "The wound is needing more time dear. The best bet is to keep you sedated a little while longer."

"No…!" Karen breathed. "No, I can't." The panic edged her voice and the thought of returning to her own memories, being trapped again—no, she couldn't go back.

"This is the only safe option," Sister Maggie said tightly.

"No— it's not," Karen responded weakly but making it clear she would not be sedated. "Just give me something for the pain, I'll rest on my own."

Sister Maggie hesitated, her eyes shooting to Frank and back to Karen, looking uncertain.

"You heard the lady," Frank's voice was uncompromising.

The nun sighed, "Fine, but if the pain becomes too much—I will not be increasing the dosage. Too much of a risk for the body."

Relief filled her as she let out a sigh, breathing her thank you to the nun.

Frank watched the nun carefully, before returning to Karen, their eyes meeting and locking. She saw the warmth and concern spread over his usually unreadable face. "I think you can handle a little pain."

"A little…?" Karen scoffed through her teeth, the pain pushing her to the edge of passing out.

Sister Mary adjusted Karen's IV above her, injecting a dosage of morphine.

"Yeah, this is nothin'." He indicated with a slight nod to her stomach. "A flesh wound."

She wanted to laugh but held it back, smiling through her pain, tears swimming at her eyes. Of course, Frank Castle would think this a flesh wound. He had been through ten times the amount she had. Everyone's perspective of pain was subject to them. Yet his eyes, something in his gaze told her that he didn't believe his own words.

"Gonna have one hellvua scar to show off…" he muttered with a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

The morphine began to buzz through her mind and flood her veins, providing her some relief. Feeling uncertain of herself, blaming it entirely on the drug, Karen lifted her hand weakly, reaching for him. Frank didn't hesitate and took her hand into his.

"You're here." She whispered, shocked and awed at this sudden revelation. Frank was here. He came for her.

The smile faded from his lips, and she regretted her words instantly. She loved his smile, it was beautiful and warm, especially when it touched his eyes, which seemed so rare. His hard, calloused hand engulfed hers, it radiated strength.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be," his thumb stroked over her knuckles and circled the sensitive flesh of her wrist. She shivered and sighed.

"You look…" Her words felt jumbled in her mind. "Normal."

He chuckled, it seemed strained and harsh. "Yeah? What do you think? Can I pull off normal?"

She titled her head on the lovely, fluffy pillow and sighed. "You can pull off anything. You're Frank Castle."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Karen was thoroughly enjoying this drug and the sudden desire to close her eyes. She knew that this rest would be different. Frank was here. He would fight off the monsters in her dreams. She felt safe. Safe for the first time in a long time. Whatever happened to her now, at least if she died, she would be okay…

"If I die…" she breathed out through half-closed eye lids.

"You ain't dyin'." Frank shot back firmly.

"Well…" She shrugged drunkenly. "Tell Matt it's not… his fault."

Frank muttered he would do this for her, though didn't seem happy about it.

She eyed up at him, loving the feel of his circling thumb, the grip of his hand in hers. "Tell Foggy I love'em and that I'm happy for him… tell my editor—he's an idiot."

"What did that nun give you?" Frank's free hand inspected the IV, his expression scowling in suspicion.

"Tell Frank…" She yawned and dipped deeper into her pillow, the pain ebbing away the more she closed her eyes.

"What do you want to tell me, Karen?"

"That I… should've kissed you…elevator."

Exhaustion finally took her under and she fell into a deep, restful sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**If you are reading & liking the story so far, please let me know! ^_^**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Frank barely moved from the love seat couch the nuns had brought in for him in Karen's room. It had been three days. Three days of hell. He watched her roll restlessly in her sleep, wake up in utter pain and fall right back into sleep, or worse yet was Sister Maggie changing her bandages. The crying, the moaning… he nearly lost half his life listening to his girl suffer. he

He never felt so helpless in his life. He wanted to do something for her—anything. But she never stayed conscious long enough to ask. Any time her eyes opened, she was in a haze of pain, never truly present with him. But that didn't matter. He'd be there regardless of where her mind was. He had been there for his buddies in the military—by their side in some of the most excrutating moments. Curtis—he sat at his friend's bedside after he lost his leg. Frank like a helpless piece of shit then too, but Curtis later told him that he apricated the gesture and somehow made the pain of losing his leg less traumatic with a friend there.

This was different for him now. Karen was so much more than a 'friend'. Frank clenched his jaw, sighing into his hands. He wasn't leaving her side until she pulled through.

He had found ways to busy himself in the time she rested. It started with a call from David, which Frank updated him on Karen. Frank decided to give Curtis a call to let him know he was okay and didn't go MIA like he sometimes did. He even called Matt Murdock and told him that Karen was safe and recovering. That was an interesting conversation Frank thought, reflecting on it now.

"I want to see her." Matt demanded. The urgency in his voice… Frank knew that feeling too. He empathized with the idiot.

"That' not a good idea Red." Frank stated, glancing from Karen's doorway back to her. Sister Maggie was checking her vitals and giving her liquids via IV.

"Why the hell not?" Matt snapped.

"Considering you're the one who got her in this mess- doesn't sound to me that havin' you around is a good idea."

"I don't need your help to find her."

"Yeah, you'll probably figure it out eventually. But the thing is, I'm here too. And I don't need to remind you what happens when you decide to throw down with me Red."

Matt's silence was all the answer he needed.

"Fine." Murdock finally said, "I won't come. But I want to stay updated. How is she?"

Frank glanced over to his girl from outside the door of her room. "Soft tissue damage left side of her stomach. Not sure if there will be nerve damage yet—but no vital organs or bones were hit. Whoever stabbed her—missed."

Matt sighed heavily, "God…" he paused before responding. "Bulls-Eye doesn't miss. I saw him throw the cane at her, I warned her to move and she did, luckily. He was aiming for her chest—her heart."

Rage slivered up his spine, twisting around him like a snake. His jaw clenched down hard and his grip on the phone damned near crushed it.

His jaw unclenched for him to hiss, "Do you think Karen was there by accident Red? 'Cause I don't."

Fisk went after families, friends, former partners, lovers of his enemies and killed them. Fisk went after Karen because of Matt. Frank wasn't an idiot. He knew Karen and Matt had an on-again-off-again kind of relationship. He knew she loved him at one point in her life. Why, Frank hadn't a clue. Matt seemed like a selfish, morally superior prick that liked forcing his views onto others. Sure, Frank wasn't the better candidate for her, but at least he wasn't a dick.

It hadn't been a coincidence that night she showed up at the church on a story. David did some digging in her emails and found an email chain between Karen and a source named Cynthia, who claimed that her teenage daughter was abducted by the Russian gang in Hell's Kitchen, that the police weren't taking her seriously, and had proof she wanted to give over to the most fearless reporter in the city.

David dug into the emailer Cynthia, it was a ghost email account with no information. He went into the police database and searched for missing teen girls in the past few months with mother's named Cynthia, found nothing.

Karen was lured to that location on false pretenses. It was a set-up by Fisk to get her out in the open, vulnerable, and get the opportunity to use his new weapon—Bulls-Eye, to target her.

"Karen isn't coming back to the Kitchen," Frank stated bluntly. "Not until you handle your business."

"My business?"

"Fisk. Handle him, or I will—and then I'm coming for you." He hung up, refusing to go down that moral rabbit hole with Red. Though, from their last encounter, it sounded as if the Devil was finally gonna come out and do more than punch his way to justice. But to act. Truly, fully act. Bout damn time, Frank thought as he returned to Karen's room.

Frank ate, slept and mostly stayed in her room. Sister Maggie and only a few other nuns came in and checked on Karen. He was served food by them too, given what the nuns eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He was grateful for their hospitality and for Sister Maggie. She was vigilant and forceful in her care of Karen. She took every aspect of it seriously.

"You're good at this." Frank had commented last time the nun was in her room.

"Thank you," Sister Maggie responded proudly. "I was a trauma/ER doctor before I became a nun."

"No shit?"

She shrugged, "Another time—another life."

"Yeah, I have a few of those."

"You certainly do."

"How did you recognize me? Most don't anymore."

"I read the papers—I follow the heartbeat of this city closely, Mr. Castle. I listen to those in need, know who does the bad and the good." Her face turned to Karen. "Her work—the things she has done to expose the crime here, has been nothing short of miraculous for this city. We need to more people like her. Willing to speak out for a better world."

Frank absorbed her words, agreeing with the nun. Yet he wasn't sure after what happened to her, how comfortable he felt with Karen exposing the criminal underworld. It came at too big of a price. "Is that why you're helping her?" he asked.

"Of course, other than that it is my duty to serve and protect members of my community."

"I didn't know Karen was the church-going type."

"She may not attend my church—but she attends the steeples of justice. And I respect that. I honor her real contribution to this city by tending to her. I would do it again if I had to."

Frank nodded thoughtfully, "That's generous of you. Don't know many people willin' to stick their necks out for strangers."

"Don't you?" the nun asked, her sharp intelligent gaze riveted to him.

His own gaze moved instinctively to Karen, whose beautiful red blond hair was braided down the length of her neck by one of the nuns, to keep her from tangling it anymore during her restless sleeping. Her cheeks were pale, the bags under her eyes heavy and strained, making her look older. Her pink, plump lips were crapped and dried, beginning to crack, despite his efforts with chap-stick. It was as though her entire body had shut down to focus on the wound—to fight it, heal it.

This woman—this insanely gorgeous, intelligent, brilliant, fierce being—she fought for him when he was only a stranger to her. She believed in him when no one else would. Whether he deserved it or not, that was entirely different.

"Have a good evening, Mr. Castle. Sister Margret left some new reading material for you as well. She left them at her front desk for you."

He nodded a thank you.

Once she left, Frank stood and looked over at Karen. She was sleeping soundly now. He had created a ritual every night with her—knowing it was more for his comfort than hers. He should've felt bad about doing it, maybe felt wrong—but he didn't. He walked to her bedside, slipped his hand into hers, noting her complexion seemed to be getting slightly pinker, which was a good sign. She was getting her strength back. Frank bent over her forehead and kissed, letting his lips linger on her skin, his heart beating quickly in this brief, intimate touch. He leaned back, searching her face, she slept on, unaware of him. He leaned down and kissed the top of her hair, breathing in her scent, closing his eyes and willing her to get through this. She had to get through this…

Frank gathered himself and pulled away, his fingers lingering just a little while longer on her arm before returning to his couch. He plumped the pillows, kicked off his boots, flipped off the lamp light and swung his legs over the length of the couch and locked his eyes onto sleeping beauty. He eventually fell asleep. His last vision of Karen.

He woke early. His muscles were stiff from the awkward couch. Deciding his needed to move his body, Frank headed out into the courtyard where many of the nuns strolled through for their afternoon walks or to pray. It was a beautiful place, with rose bushes and blooming flowers surrounded in brick gardens. The sun was beginning to already warm the day. Summer days were heating up fast.

Frank found a clearing under the rising sunlight and dropped onto his hands for pushups. He added crunches, leg lifts, planks, air squats and jumps. He did this until he was dripping sweat, arms and legs shaking. After his workout he walked out to his van for a change of clothes. He was getting down to his last clean t-shirt. He changed in the back alley where his van was parked, slipping on a white t-shirt and new pair of jeans, fresh socks and grabbed his razor too. He hadn't shaved and was feeling a little too scruffy for his liking.

A spit bath and shave later, Frank returned to Karen's room. He was greeted with a plate of breakfast sitting on his sofa. He glanced over to her—her cheeks pinker, her lips parted slightly, and eyes still firmly shut. His heart did that funny swoop as he looked away, focusing on his breakfast and new reading material for the day.

* * *

Karen felt herself coming up for air, coming out of her deep, deep sleep. Her eyes fluttered open. It took her a moment to adjust her eyes to the sunlight and the room. She heard birds outside chipping, the click of dull heels walking around in the distance and the sound of a page being turned. The pain in her stomach was considerably less than when she was fully awake before. Her new pain, she realized, was sore muscles from lying in this position. How long had she been asleep, she wondered as she shifted slightly, sitting up on her pillows.

It was then that she saw him—Frank Castle. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest and a sudden shiver of awareness flittered over her skin. She swallowed. She had a hazy memory of him suddenly hit her. She saw him, in a dream or awake maybe. He told her she was okay, that he was there. For her. Her heart skipped once more, pulse racing.

He came for her, she realized, feeling slightly in awe over this. Considering she was usually the one rushing to Frank's side in a hospital room. Except she wasn't in a hospital. She blinked a few times, eyes still adjusting to the new surroundings. She vaguely recalled a church—a nun, Sister something…

"Awe—I see my patient is awake. Good!" the woman's voice came into the room as the older nun walked over to her, a small pleased smile on her handsome face.

Frank's eyes shot to hers instantly and tossed the book over his shoulder, getting to his feet, looking suddenly very alert. He seemed to be searching her face for something. "How are you?" His voice was horse and dark.

She instinctively wet her lips at the sound of him. She blamed it entirely on her over-active imagination, especially late at night, feeling restless and needy… She sometimes heard that rumbling, dark voice in her fantasies— taunting her, teasing her, whispering across her flesh and exciting her senses, her nipples tightening and toes curling as she slipped her fingers beneath the sheets, touching herself between her thighs and…

A flush came over her then and she ducked her chin away from his intense gaze. Frank wouldn't allow that, his fingers grasping her chin and pulling her upwards. "You're hot—we should check her temperature…" he instructed the nun. His warm fingers on her skin felt branding. Karen swallowed, nervous energy coursing through her as she felt the slip of his thumb touch the corner of her mouth. Frank's gaze sharpened like a knife over her, then he too shuddered as he seemed transfixed on her lips, which parted for him.

"She's fine, Mr. Castle." The nun swiped at him, attempting to dislodge his grip on her. Frank dropped his hand away, leaving Karen shaken, her stomach curling into knots—it wasn't painful, it was… arousing.

He stepped away from Karen's bedside almost completely now. The distance felt more like him. Always keeping her at bay, never getting too close. Exactly like the last time she saw him. Refusing to believe they could be something—have something together. Her heart ached all over again. But she wouldn't go there. Not now.

Karen turned to the nun, "I'm sorry—where am I? And who are you, again?"

"My name is Sister Maggie, you are safe—my home."

"She's been watching out for you. Used to be a hot shot doctor in the city." Frank commented drily.

The nun gave him a stern look, "Those were my younger years."

"Why am I not at a hospital?" Karen asked.

"Too dangerous," Frank replied. "Fisk sent you up. Bulls-Eye was waiting for you at the church that night."

Her breath caught in her throat. It all came rushing back to her now. The email of the frantic mother looking for her teen daughter who was abducted by the Russian mob—the meeting place—the empty church—Daredevil, but not Matt. Fear gripped her now in the memory of the pain—the stabbing.

"You have some soft tissue damage, but nothing severe—no organs or muscle damage. However, we still must check for nerve damage, but only when you are up for it, dear." The nun spoke gently to her.

Karen took a long minute to absorb her words. Flashes of that night coming careening back. She inhaled sharply. "How long will it take to recover?"

"A few weeks. I don't recommend any intense physical activity for a while, at least until the stitches are out."

As if on cue, her stomach groaned achingly, demanding her attention and food. "I'm starving—is it safe to eat."

"Of course, I'll get a tray of food for you now. Eating will restore your body faster." Sister Maggie patted her shoulder kindly before leaving her room.

Karen felt a combination of physical exhaustion and mental overload, a very familiar feeling for her especially when working on a new story and pushing herself through all nighters.

"Can I get something for you?" Frank's voice interrupted her thoughts.

She hummed, distractedly. "I feel like I should be doing something…"

"Recovering—that's all you need to be doing. Nothin' else matters."

His unwavering firmness stilled her. Matt—she needed to contact Matt. He must be worried, and Foggy too! "My purse…?" She asked up at him. "My phone?"

He shrugged his thick shoulders, "Police station. Collected into evidence for your disappearance or kidnapping."

"Kidnapping?"

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Word on the street is that Daredevil tried to kill you—a good amount of your blood was found at the crime scene where you were last seen and you're missing. Police have in custody the alleged Daredevil now."

"Matt?" Her eyes widened in alarm and she jumped slightly.

He shook his head, "Don't do that. Getting' yourself all riled up." His tone grew impatient then, his expression hardening. "No—it ain't Matt. It's Bulls-Eye, stole Red's suit and has been fuckin' up Hell's Kitchen under Fisk's orders."

She leaned heavily against her pillows, the tension in her stomach unrolling.

"I need to…" Karen stopped herself. What would she do? Call the police? They were in Fisk's pockets—deep. So were plenty of attorneys and judges. The second they found her, she would be dead. She knew this for a fact, she had covered some of the biggest corruption scandals in Kitchen history and most of them were working with badges and under the pretense of the law. Now that Fisk was back, a true player on the board, no one was safe. This was Fisk's second attempt on her life. She wasn't giving him a third.

She took another deep breath, her hand running through her hair, pulling on the roots. She noted her hair was oily from the lack of wash and she smelled. Frowning she lowered her arm, frustrated.

"So basically your telling me I have to stay hidden until Fisk is in custody again—or…"

"Killed. Basically."

She shot him a hard look.

He raised his arms defensively at her accusatorily look. "Hey don't give me that look. Do you see me here in your room, and not stormin' the gates of Fisk tower?"

"And why aren't you going after him? Normally an act like that, to someone you…" she stopped herself. He didn't love her, she reminded herself. He cared enough to be at her bedside now, maybe out of guilt or obligation- or whatever. It didn't matter. He told her what he was capable of six months ago in a hospital room—that he didn't get a 'happy ending'. That he was too dark for her. And Murdock was a better choice. God, she thought with an internal eye-roll, the last person she wanted was Matt yet Frank thought him a better alternative than—him.

"To someone you _know_, usually it's guns blazing." Karen wasn't going down that rabbit hole again. She learned her lesson and didn't plan on putting her heart out again, just to have him put another bullet in it.

Frank studied her closely, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "It ain't my mess—nor is it yours. It's Reds."

"You're blaming Daredevil for this?"

"100%."

"He didn't throw the cane… it was Bulls-Eye."

"He might as well have." Frank countered. "He put you in a position of risk, starting a war with someone like Fisk and not having the balls to do what needs to be done. Nothing stops monsters like him unless it's a bullet."

Karen stared up at him, the passion, the truth in his words and expression. He was right. He was right…

After nearly experiencing her death- again, she realized that the monster under her bed was very real. And it wanted to eat her alive. Matt, she loved him as a friend, but knew his heart couldn't pull the monster out from under the bed and kill it. He would rough it up and try to lock it away. But like putting an octopus in a bottle, it will eventually find it's way out.

Frank, she imagined would pull the monster out from under her bed and kill it. Karen's breath caught in her throat as she realized, _So would I… _

The acknowledgment of her own violence, startled her. She was reminded of the day she killed Fisk's right-hand man and got away with it. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself.

"You have nothin' to worry about, Karen." Frank stepped closer to her bedside, he reached out to touch her, but withdrew—so uncertain. Her heart ached for his touch but didn't ask for it. "I ain't goin' anywhere until Fisk is handled."

"I can't hide forever—and neither can you. You already tried once and failed spectacularly."

He shrugged with a smug smile. "Yeah well I never had a reason to stay hidden."

"I'm not going to let yourself be pulled into this with me. I won't."

"I'm not askin', Karen. I'm tellin'."

She stiffened, her gaze furiously. "You will not ruin your life for mine. You and I both know that Matt won't kill Fisk—he can't. It goes against everything he believes in. It could be years before anything happens—or never! And I will not suffocate in a life that it a lie—I can't do it again."

"Again?"

She clenched her teeth down hard. "I misspoke."

"You sounded pretty clear to me…" His eyes narrowed.

"All I'm saying is," she replied calmly, coolly. Refusing to open-up about her past with Frank. She could barely admit it to herself, and she certainly wasn't going to rehash it now. "I _won't_ let you go into hiding with me, Frank. It's a kind gesture. And I'm grateful for it. But I don't need your protection."

"Yeah, I can tell…" His head titled down to the gaping wound in her stomach.

"That's not fair."

"Fair? Do you really think Fisk and his people give a shit about fair? They would butcher you on sight and pay off whatever cop, lawyer or judge to have justice for you thrown out the goddamned window!"  
His fury instantly became matched by hers, face flushed and eyes blazing. "Don't you think I know that!" _You stupid son-of-a-bitch, you don't want this life! You don't want it with me! _Her heart shattered at the thought and she buried it. Buried with everything else in her life that was too painful to look at. Too painful to acknowledge. It was why she was such a good worker—dedicated to her job when the rest of her life was so empty.

"Stop actin' like a damned fool Karen, and let me help you!" Frank snapped.

"NO!"

"Karen—" He growled, opening his mouth to yell more when there came a sharp knock on the opened doorway. It was Sister Maggie.

"Good thing it's well passed noon, or else you two would've woken nap hour."

Frank took an immediate step back and Karen collapsed in frustration into her pillows.

"Mr. Castle, I think I can take it from here. Fresh air may do you some good."

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are, but I'm not asking. I'm telling."

He glanced at Karen, she ducked her head low, unable to make eye contact and simply nodded. He let out an irritated grunt and left, the fall of his boots sounded heavy—almost angry. She imagined him suddenly as a child, stomping out of the room after being chastised by mommy. She almost smirked. Almost.

The nun cleared her throat purposefully.

"It's fine." Karen reassured, "We're both just stubborn. And that tends to lead to disagreements." She sighed, "We'll figure it out though."

Sister Maggie merely nodded and handed her the food tray. It was a cold sandwich with sliced apple and grapes. "Perfect," Karen said softly, "Thank you."

Sister Maggie patted her shoulder once more. "I'll give you some time. I'll be back in a half hour."

As Sister Maggie left, unbeknownst to Karen, the nun pulled out her cellphone and dialed a number. A number to someone keenly interested in the whereabouts of Karen Page's location.

_**TBC**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Frank was furious. He paced up and down the secluded courtyard rose garden. He didn't care if he scared off some of the nuns, cursing up a storm in his fury. _Karen—damned stubborn creature from Heaven_. _Damn her_, he thought in pure frustration. She should've agreed. She should've let him protect her like a compliant birdie. But no! She flat out refused his offer. Refused! How many times had he saved her life? How many times had he gotten her out of danger?

He hesitated, kicking a stone in his path. Well, some of the danger—he put her in, and other times, she got out just fine without him. _It didn't matter_, he rationalized. Karen needed protection and he was the best and only option. Pretty boy Daredevil was beat to shit and couldn't do half as good as Frank.

Inhaling deeply, letting his rage out of his chest in slow breaths, Frank continued to pace. He didn't care if Karen denied him all the way to whatever safe house David could find him, he was going with her. He would be with her every step of the way and then what…? Tuck her into bed at night and kiss her goodnight? A sliver of excitement coursed up his back. Maybe. She partially admitted, in a drunken drugged state, that she should've kissed him.

God that simple confession had him reeling. He hadn't realized how intensely she had wanted him—and how epically he threw it away. He gritted his teeth, trying not to fantasize about kissing those soft, pink lips. Diving his tongue into that hot, smartass mouth, sucking on the tongue that taunted him. He felt a tightness forming in his gut, circling down to his cock. He grimaced. Damnit, she hadn't said anything about wanting to kiss him.

He wanted to pin her down and devour her whole—taste her tongue, her lips, suck and kiss her breasts and skin. He wanted to conquer. He wanted to strip her clothes off, touch her naked breasts, palm her ass in his hands, and touch her between her gorgeous legs, taking his fill and giving her pleasure as he slipped over her wet and aching…

Frank let out a stream of violent curses and slammed his fist into the brick wall, attempting to dampen his straining erection. The pain filtered through his brain enough to stop the thoughts of Karen, naked and thoroughly aroused beneath him.

He had the sudden urge to escape but knew that wasn't going to happen. He wanted to stay here for Karen, even if she made it abundantly clear that she didn't want him to protect her. So he did the only thing he could—call and bug David about the safe house.

No matter what Karen felt for him or not, he wasn't leaving. She would accept it sooner or later. And what had she meant about hiding before? Frank dialed David's number—Karen was much more than an innocent, pretty face. She was hiding something dark—maybe a few dark things. Frank sensed it the moment he met her those years ago. Now he wanted to find out what she was running from.

* * *

Karen, with the help of Sister Maggie later that day, the sun beginning to set, managed to dig out some old crutches and get her on her feet. Her legs wobbled like a baby giraffe. But she stayed up. She hadn't used her muscles in nearly 4 days and her body felt sore from all the laying around. She needed to move. Needed to get her energy out of her system. That fight with Frank left her frazzled.

Sister Maggie provided her a crutch, which was helpful so that Karen didn't have to lean on the poor elder nun. The pain was there, like a constant dull reminder. She sighed heavily, and tensed her leg muscles, refusing to let this wound stop her. Karen didn't let much stop her. Not a cane to the stomach, not any criminals she exposed in the newspaper, and not Frank- and his rejection of her. Yet he was a walking contradiction, she thought irritably. One minute he didn't want her in his life, the next he refused to get out of hers.

She vaguely remembered what one of her girlfriends, when she had girlfriends, in college said to her as a joke, "Boys are dumb.". Karen laughed a little, smiling at that good memory. Feeling a surge of momentum, Karen managed a few steps, and sensing she could risk it—headed for the doorway in almost a sprint of excitement to get out of the room and maybe outside. Visions of sunlight danced in her head, but before she could even breathe in the outside air, her body slammed into a brick wall.

The brick wall of Frank Castle. Karen slipped on her crutch and felt herself begin to fall backwards, heart lodged firmly into her throat, already anticipating the impact on her body of the stone ground. But Frank didn't let her get that far. He reached out, grabbing her around the arms and hauling her back up to her feet, holding her steady and strong against him. Her crutch clattering to the floor.

"Whoa…" He murmured, his breath fanned the exposed skin of her cheek and ear. Desire instantly pulsated through her body like liquid fire. His chest pressed against hers, their bodies linked, making her gasp for air. Her fingers clamped down on—she realized just then that she must have grabbed him too in her attempt to stop. The muscles of his biceps were huge and firm and so damned strong. Everything about Frank was strong. A quality that both scared and excited her.

He titled her away slightly to look into her eyes, "You okay?" His dark, husky voice made her skin tingle in sharp awareness.

_God_, she thought, _this is unbearable_. She needed to stop pining. Stop wanting someone that had no interest in her. Clearly, she thought bitterly, she was a masochist and enjoyed the pain of being rejected over and over. Isn't that what happened between her and Matt? She knocked on his door for so long, wanting his attention, wanting his love in return but he never answered the door for her. She had been unwelcomed. Now—it was happening all over again and it needed to stop. She needed to walk away.

Maybe she was forever fated to love those who couldn't love her back or give her what she needed.

She ducked her eyes away from his hard gaze, not wanting him to see the obvious desire all over her flushed cheeks. "Fine."

"Of course you are," he muttered almost irritably and with one arm firmly on her, the other reached down and secured her crutch, leaning it against the wall behind her. "Be careful, Roadrunner."

"Will do," she said light-heartedly as she could, attempting to pull away from him. But he didn't release her right away. Her pulse suddenly quickened.

"I gotta go on a supply run." He informed her, his eyes moving from her to Sister Maggie, who was still in her room, watching them.

"Supply run?" She asked, "For what?"

He smiled politely at the nosey nun though it never reached his eyes. With a quick, unexpected jerk, he shifted Karen away from the doorway, walking a few feet away and out of earshot and sight of the Sister. She quickly regained her balance however his hands never left her body. She wanted to pull away from his touch, the hand on her good side, the firm grip on her upper arm. But she didn't. She decided to continue tormenting herself and stay under his touch just a little while longer.

"I should be back in a few hours." He said, avoiding her question.

She hesitated, her mind clearing of lustful thoughts, and leaned back against the wall, slipping out of his touch. "You don't need to come back, Frank. I'm safe here."

"With a bunch of elderly nuns? I don't think so."

"No one knows where I am…"

He interrupted her, "Yet."

She sighed, running her hand through her hair, feeling like not only had she run into a brick wall but was now trying to talk to it. "I have some friends in the city, I can stay with them until this blows over." She lied.

His jaw flexed beneath his skin, "See the thing is Karen," he leaned down over her, his fists up against the wall, trapping her there but not touching her. "I don't trust you."

She gaped at him, "What?"

"I don't trust that the second your healed, you'll go lookin' for trouble again. And I can't have that."

"You do not control me or what I do with my life, Frank."

He nodded, "Yeah, I know."

"So stop trying to control me!"

He smirked angrily, his face now hovering over hers. "Alright, let's play this scenario out. You stay with your… friends. A month goes by, you get bored and decide you wanna expose the truth to what happened to you with you in an article. Fisk starts lookin' for you again—and more than likely finds you, or one of your friends. And this is the part of the story where I come back because I ain't lettin' anyone hurt you again, not under my watch. What happens, do you think, Karen, when I get involved with your business?"

Death, murder, bullets—the Punisher. She swallowed. He watched the movement of her throat and the paling of her skin and he nodded again, as though he could read her thoughts.

"However you think is gonna play out, forget it. I'm here and I'm not leaving you."

"I'm not your responsibility." She snapped.

His chin titled upwards as if she hit him. She saw a flash of hurt on his features, which he quickly concealed—always the tough guys—the man without feelings, she thought. He cleared his throat, "No—you're not. Let's say I owe you then."

"Jesus Frank, you don't owe me anything." She moved away from the wall, every instinct telling her to grab him and shake some sense into him.

His eyes darkened, she was close enough to see the golden hue in his brown deep eyes. She was reminded of the statue of David by Michelangelo—eyes that seemed to peer into the distance and yet know exactly what he is looking at with intention and determination.

"You fought for me when no one else did, I can't leave you in this fight alone."

"I'm not alone," she said quickly.

"You think Red is gonna keep you safe?" He snorted, "He's got his head so far up his ass… Karen, he doesn't care about you."

"Stop."

"No."

Instinct took over and she reached for him, cradling his face in her palms, locking eyes with his. His gaze sharpened on her immediately and she watched in amazement as his scowl soften and his lips part. All it took was her touch and he seemed- he seemed to melt. She hesitated, unsure of her power over him and if she was reading this clearly. Or maybe she saw what she wanted to. Heart firmly stuck in her throat, she whispered, "I can handle myself, Frank."

She hadn't realized he moved, until she felt him. His whole body against her, the heat and muscles against her softness. His hands were off the wall and running up her back and neck. Every fiber in her being was tingling with sweet, aching awareness. His breath on her lips—his forehead titled against hers, resting there, looking at her. Waiting. She felt back in the elevator with him—back in that moment of wanting to reach out and take with both hands—to take this man and keep him close. Close like he was now. Like he has been since that day…

"Karen…" he growled dangerously low. Was he trying to warn her? Or… something else.

She felt him stiffen against her and freeze. Unsure of what was happening, she felt him pull away—yet it felt like peeling off her skin and it hurt.

He turned his head and it was then she saw what had stopped their moment under the sun together. It was an unfamiliar nun, a paperback romance novel clutched in her hand out in front of her as though she had been reading and walking down the hallway. The bottle-lens glasses of the older nun showed wide eyes behind them and a frozen demeanor at the sight of Karen and Frank in each other's arms.

She watched as the nun glanced down at the pages of her romance novel and back to them.

Karen couldn't help but laugh a little. Frank's gaze instantly returned to hers and watched in fascination. Finally, he too broke out in a smile, and pushed away from her completely, nodding politely at the nun and waved her by. The nun hurriedly walked past, glancing quickly at Karen and him before heading down the hall.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I gotta go." He said begrudgingly, "Before it gets too late."

She said nothing, smile fading from her lips. He didn't seem to like this and snatched her crutch from off the wall and walked down to her room doorway and propped the crutch up.

"What are you doing?" She asked, stunned. "I need that."

He shook his head, "No you don't. You can don't need anything or—anyone." His eyes flashed at her. "I'll be back soon, Roadrunner."

Karen unexpectedly snorted a laugh, feeling exasperated and the lingering effects or desire coursing through her. "Oh, I hate you sometimes."

He headed down the hallway, hiding his grin from her as he left.

_**TBC**_


	8. Chapter 8

**_Author's note/warning_: If you are a fan of Daredevil/Matt- sorry for this chapter. I always had issues with Karen & Matt's relationship season 2 and how quickly it fell apart once Electra was introduced. So when Frank came into the picture in the same season, it helped me SOOO much because I straight up hated on Matt for being an idiot at letting someone like Karen-fuckin'-Page go. Matt's loss, Frank's gain. **

**I'm a bigger fan of Punisher anyway- so if this storyline is super off compared to the Daredevil storyline, sorry (but not- cuz it's a Frank & Karen love story!) **

**Enjoy this chapter. It's got some steam ;) **

**Plz comment!**

* * *

**Chapter 8 **

Frank had a hard time focusing. His mind kept pulling him back to that moment in the hallway—back to her. The feeling of her pressed against him, so willing, so soft. The feel of her skin, the flush of her cheeks… everything. Damned that woman was beautiful. So much so that it felt blinding to him. It was like staring directly into sunlight, yet with hers—hers was a glowing warmth that wrapped itself around him like a blanket. He never felt more right in his life than with his arms around her, and her touching him.

Another image flashed into his head, that day in the hospital, the last time he saw her. How fast the light went out in her eyes when he slipped his hand from hers and turned his back to her. God he was a fuckin' idiot. He knew it then too. Knew he was possibly making the biggest mistake of his life and watched her walk out the door. Forever.

Frank didn't think she would trust him again after that. If he deserved a second chance with Karen. He knew his wife and the kids wanted him to be happy. Therapy and his own moment of death—seeing Maria—felt like letting go. Letting go of anger, hate, grief and beginning to accept a new life for himself. A life that meant love again.

Frank sighed. He was pushing his newfound acceptance by being near her—yet, he admitted to himself now, whenever Karen was in the room—he forgot about his pain. His baggage. She had the ability to wipe him clean. It was incredible.

Touching her, seeing that spark in her eyes again—maybe. Maybe he still had a chance. Maybe if he didn't fuck everything up after all. He heard Jory's voice in his head, reminding him that it was a leap of faith, love. That he had to take risks with his heart, despite the walls he'd built around it over the years since his family died. He wanted to let Karen inside his walls. He just didn't know how anymore. It had been so long since he allowed himself to feel anything—for anyone.

He sighed and rubbed a rough palm over his face as he pulled into the back alley of the convalescent home. The digital clock on his van dash read close to midnight. His supply run ran longer than expected. He had to go to several stores to get what he needed as well as mapping out the route to the safehouse David secured for them. It was in a little town called Paradise, a beach town with the safe house on the beach itself. When Frank was out shopping, he paused walking through the isles—there was a summer themed section with beach blankets and freebies and swimsuits.

He had a flash of him and Karen on the beach, overlooking the waves, feeling the sand beneath their feet and the sun on their skin. He saw her, wearing a summer dress, smiling brilliantly at him, tucking her hair behind her ear as she kicked water at him and take off in a run. He imagined catching her, twirling her in his arms and setting her down, but not before she stretched up on her toes and kissed him.

Frank stared blindly at the isle now, wondering what if he could have that with her—what if he could have a normal life again. No more killing, no more running—just her and him. Safe, comfortable. Maybe had a dog and house. Maybe a kid…

He sucked in a breath at the thought and pushed forward, ignoring the isle and trying to shake off the remnants of his overactive imagination. Sitting in his truck, he felt tired. He hadn't slept much the past few days due to his shitty sofa-bed and his worry over Karen. He was damned near tempted to tilt his seat back and drift off into snooze-land, but he needed to check in on her. Needed to confirm she was safe, even if it was just to see her tucked into bed.

Leaving the supplies in the van, he locked up and was about to slip through the back of the home through the courtyard when he heard voices. He recognized both voices and his spine straightened, hand instinctively went to his hip, realizing too late that he'd left his gun in the van. He almost muttered a curse but knew Daredevil would hear it. Inhaling sharply, he pressed his back against the outer brick wall of the rose garden and assessing the metal gate. Daredevil left it open. Good, he'd use Matt's incompetence against him.

Frank slipped inside and crouched down low, moving through the gardens, their voices coming closer with each step.

He managed to tuck up against the closet brick garden that was waist level, crouching down on his knee, sight able to see them through the rose bushes.

Matt was dressed in all black again tonight, not daring to dawn the Daredevil suit that represented the murderer who stole it from him. Matt had his back to Frank—he could only see Karen. She too was dressed in black, having changed from her clothes into a clean nun's habit-dress. The dress fit her well considering it was barrowed. Her hair looked lighter as though she had cleaned it and loosely hung around her shoulders and down her back, curling at the ends. Her skin was illuminated in the moonlight making her look more like an angel, surrounded by colorful roses and darkness.

Frank saw the look of pension on her face as she stared the Devil down.

"Bulls-Eye is in custody. He's admitted to the cops that he isn't me—he isn't the real Daredevil." Matt said to her, his voice was gentle yet urgent. He stepped closer to her. Frank felt his gut twist angrily, his teeth clench down wanting to snap his jaw. "This will be over soon—sooner if you came back. Testified against him, tell the truth of what happened that night."

She stiffened, folding her arms defiantly over her body, "Has he admitted to being Fisk's goon?"

Matt silenced.

Karen scoffed.

He replied quickly, "He will—it's only a matter of time before he cracks and admits to it. After that, Fisk will have nowhere to hide."

"Can you even hear what you're saying, Matt? Your whole plan is relying on a man who tried to kill me!"

_Good girl_, Frank thought, agreeing with her logic. Karen wouldn't waver, she just spent all day denying him, he doubted Matt would have any luck convincing her to do anything she didn't want to do. Except, he thought, they had a past. She loved him once. And if Frank knew anything, Matt would use her feelings against her. Frank felt his fist clench.

"I know you're scared."

"I'm not scared." Karen bit out.

Matt sighed, "I know what I'm asking of you is a risk, Karen. A big one. I get it. But you won't be doing it alone. I'll protect you."

Karen let out a loud, frustrated groan. Frank nearly laughed. Matt just said her favorite line, he thought with immense pleasure.

"I don't need anyone's protection! Do I have a sign on my back saying: Please help me?" Frank watched her run a hand through her hair, looking annoyed as hell.

"Karen," Matt whispered softly. "Please, this is the best plan I've got—we've got. We can bring Fisk down together."

She shook her head, her expression seemingly disbelieving. "Are you serious? Fisk has almost every judge, police officer, attorney in his pocket. Now that he's out—he's become more of a threat than ever to this city and you want me…? Me? To what? Testify? My testimony would only be helpful if Bulls-Eye confesses to being hired by Fisk. If he doesn't, it's pointless. It's pointless either way. Fisk is a snake. He can't be touched in this city by our laws or our justice. You should know that better than any of us, Matt."

Matt suddenly pulled off his black mask and threw it to the ground, "Don't you think I've played out every scenario in my head?"

"No," she replied darkly. "You haven't."

He stilled, "What are you saying?"

"Sometimes darkness is the only thing that can fight darkness."

Frank sank into the bricks, surprised. Karen—his girl—was finally dropping her innocent mask. The mask she carried around and wore like a beacon for years. He'd seen that innocent mask the day he met her but saw it for what it was. Protection. Protection for those around her to not see what lied beneath. Karen knew darkness, felt it and if Frank's suspicions were correct, touched it herself.

"You sound like Frank Castle." Matt retorted, sounding disappointed.

"He has nothing to do with this."

"I think he has a lot to do with this."

Karen's arms tightened around her body and her face grew stony.

He continued, his tone shifting angrily. "You've changed, Karen. He's changing you. You're just too blind to see it because your too close."

She laughed weakly, almost in contempt. "Or maybe—you've just never known me."

Silence descended between them.

"I thought I did," Matt whispered. "Once."

Frank saw the Devil approach his angel again. It took every ounce of will power to stay put, to not jump to his feet and tackle the arrogant bastard and pummel his face in.

"Matt…" Karen warned.

Matt was holding her cheek, touching her—touching her skin. A coil knotted deep in Frank's gut, tightening like a screw.

Unexpectedly, Karen's hand shot out and slapped his hand away. She pivoted, to the best of her ability, and moved away from him. She wobbled a little but stayed on her feet. He noticed then that she didn't have the crutch. Karen was now closer to Frank, her back to him and Matt's face clear to him.

"Enough, Matt." She said irritably. "I'm done playing that game with you."

"What game?" He asked attempting to appear innocent to his own tactics.

"The one where you play with my feelings in order to manipulate me to do something for you. That one."

His titled his head to the side and acknowledged the verbal hit.

"Except this time, I don't have feelings for you anymore. I learned my lesson—you were a great teacher for that. So thank you." Her voice shook with emotion but she held it back.

"We had something, you and I both know it." Matt countered, unwilling to give up this fight.

Her shoulders shrugged, "We had nothing. Our entire relationship, brief as it was, was built on lies. You never loved me—you loved being Daredevil and with Electra."

His features turned cold and almost sad.

"And I don't hate you, Matt." Karen said softly. "We tried and it didn't work. It happens to a lot of people and it happened to us. I won't glamorize what we had or…" She sighed, "Pretend that there was a possibility for something more. You were never available. Not really. You didn't need me and you still don't."

Matt looked away, seeming defeated by her words. "We're friends."

Her voice edged like a knife, "Friends don't manipulate one another."

Karen surprised him again as she slowly bent over and picked up Matt's black mask. He saw the briefest hint of pain on the side of her face but she pushed past it and stood tall. "Good bye, Matt."

She handed him the mask and began walking back towards the hallway entrance of the home.

"I know Frank's with you." Matt said unexpectedly. Karen's movements paused but she said nothing. "You'll let him protect you—but not me?"

She turned sharply on her heel, "Like I said before, I don't need anyone's protection. Not yours—not his."

"You have feelings for him?"

She stiffened, a sudden vulnerability crossing her beautiful features. Frank felt his own heart grip tight.

"You do," Matt stated matter-of-factly. "I can hear your heart racing, Karen."

She shook her head in disgust, "What do you want from me, Matt?"

"I want you to be safe—even if you think I don't care about you. Because I do. And Frank Castle is as far from safety as Fisk!"

She seemed undisturbed by his display of emotion, if anything she responded with a severity that Frank rarely saw from her. "I've taken care of myself for the past year without your help—without Franks. Unlike you, I don't hide behind a mask to fight injustice because I'm not afraid of what could or eventually will happen to me. I've accepted my death. I did a long time ago. I also know that I won't stop fighting because that's not who I am. We're done, Matt."

Frank watched her leave, feeling proud. That was one hellvua verbal take down, best he'd ever witnessed. He stood now, not caring if the Devil heard him anymore.

Matt turned instantly, "Frank."

"Murdock."

"I assuming you heard all of that."

He shrugged, "A bit."

"She has feelings for you—and I don't understand it." He twisted the mask in his hands. "You don't deserve her."

Frank once thought Murdock was the better man than him. With his morals and principles. He seemed to know himself and protect what he cared about. Frank realized tonight, that Matt was never the man for Karen. "Neither do you." He retorted.

"If you hurt her… I'll come after you." Matt whispered darkly.

"I don't intend to—though you wanna duke this out right now, let's have at it Red."

"She's all yours Frank."

Frank shook his head in exasperation at this man. "You still don't get it, do ya? She doesn't belong to anyone. It's the lucky man she chooses—not the other way around. Now get outta here Romeo, the longer you're here the greater the risk to her."

That seemed to penetrate Matt's thick skull as he slipped on his black mask and left through the garden gate, locking it behind him.

Frank headed inside, his mind swirling with their conversation—watching the fire in her eyes, the fierceness in her words—her tenacity. He admired her and wanted her. Ached for her. He rounded the corner of the hallway to her room and stopped. Karen was leaning against the wall across from the entrance of the garden. His stomach swooped at the cold expression she gave him.

He didn't know what to say to her. Tell her the truth? That he heard everything? That Red wouldn't be apart of her life—at least for the time being. That she had feelings for him. He tensed, feeling a sudden nervous energy, like he was a school kid about to be scolded by the teacher. He shook his head, damned when was the last time he felt nervous?

Slowly, she pushed herself off the wall and stepped up to him. He didn't make a move to touch her, he wouldn't make the first move. He wanted it to be her choice—no matter how much he burned to take her.

She tilted her chin up, their eyes colliding and without a word, only an inhale of breath—Karen's lips touched his. He instantly let out a relieved groan and lifted her against him. Needing all of her—her lips, her body, her mind, her heart—her soul.

Her fingers scraped through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as they kissed. But it wasn't just a simple kiss- it was a full out war. A war for dominance. Her lips were hard and frantic on his, demanding submission. But he wasn't giving in, pushing back against her harder, scrapping his stubble against her soft lips, feeling her tongue slip into his mouth. He moaned again like a horny teenager, loving the feel of her tongue sweep through his mouth. Frank felt his cock harden like a rock in his jeans, growing heavy and needy.

She was his, whether she realized it or not. This moment. This kiss meant only one thing to him. Mine. He felt the quiver in his belly, the tightness surrounding his heart. This kiss might as well have been a fuckin' sledgehammer, he thought, as he felt the walls around his heart begin to shake and crumble. She could do this to him—only her. Only Karen.

Karen slipped her tongue out, letting him take charge for only a briefest of seconds, his tongue spearing into her instantly, sucking on her lips—taking her mouth with gluttonous fill. Power shifted back to her as she leaned her hips into his throbbing cock, rubbing slightly against him like a cat in heat. _Oh dear God_… he thought. She hummed in the back of her throat, her excitement eroding his senses. Not thinking clearly, Frank lifted her up off her feet and pushed her against the wall, branding her with his rough, animalistic kisses.

She let out a soft cry against his lips. This wasn't a cry of pleasure. But of pain. He instantly pulled back, "Shit," he breathed, realizing his mistake.

Her eyes were clenched shut, mouth grimacing and her hand left the back of his neck to hold the side of her stomach.

"Damnit…" he muttered angrily. Without waiting, he swooped her legs out from under her and lifted her into his arm, carrying her into the bedroom. With one arm he held her against his body and pulled down the bedding for her. He carefully, gingerly, laid her down. She gasped slightly as tears formed at her eyes.

He wanted to wring his own damned neck for accidently hurting her. Attempting to reel in his frustration, he gestured to her side, "Let me take a look."

She merely nodded. There was no other access to her wound than to untie her dress. She sat up briefly, giving him quick access to the ties and loosening them. She fell backwards against the pillows, her lips still red and bruised from his kisses.

The arousal turned quickly to fear as he pulled back the side of her dress where the wound was. Frank had been at her bedside the past 4 days but he didn't get a look at the wound itself—he left that to Sister Maggie. Now, he saw the white bandages, and the dark red stain forming beneath. Her skin was whiter around her stomach with freckles along her belly and thigh. A sudden thought of kissing every freckle on her body made his arousal stir back to life. He cleared his throat gruffly and focused on the task at hand. Gently as possibly, he peeled off the bandages and cursed at the sight of the wound.

"What…?" She asked, her face pinched with pain.

"A stitch opened up."

She sighed, draping an arm over her face. "Sister Maggie did warn me about physical activity."

"She didn't warn you about me," he said.

Karen's gaze looked at him from beneath her arm and she chuckled, "No—she didn't."

He wanted to touch her again, kiss her smile. But he didn't. A smirk pulled at his lips, watching her relax into the pillows, the humor seeming to calm her.

"I can patch this up." He told her.

She nodded simply and sighed, "Okay."

"Do you want anything for the pain?"

"Do you think they have any tequila?"

"Probably," he chuckled. "Once I find it—I'll make us some damned fine margaritas."

"You're on."

He finally allowed himself to touch her, it was a comforting gesture—not for her, but him as his fingers reached for her hand and gripped. "This is gonna hurt."

She took a deep breath. Frank gathered Sister Maggie's tools from the side table, threaded the needle and went to work, blocking out Karen's soft whimper and silent tears.

**_TBC_**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry for the delay- I wrote this chapter and had to step away because I didn't like the direction the story was going. I just finish the rewrite of this chapter. This chapter give us backstory on Karen. **

**Plz comment if you are enjoying the story so far! Thank you :))**

* * *

_**Chapter 9**_

Karen woke to Frank's voice. It was soft but urgent. Her eyes fluttered open. The room was dimly lit yet she could make out his frame. Karen knew that she would be able to see Frank in any crowd, any shadowed alley or darken room. The very depths of her knew him and felt him. Especially his eyes. The darkness he possessed and yet haunted him, was always in his gaze. Goosebumps erupted over her skin.

"Time to go." He whispered huskily.

She rubbed her arms, attempting to wipe away the gooseflesh. "What time is it?"

"Early."

She yawned and felt her mind slowly begin to wake. She sat up, flinching slightly at the renewed pain in her stomach. Frank had rebandaged and stitched her up last night, that was the last thing she remembered before passing out from exhaustion. She had one hellvua day yesterday. Getting up from her rest bed after days of attempted recovery, walking around, dealing with lots of sexual tension between her and Frank, giving Matt a real piece of her mind and finally—one incredible, insanely hot makeout session in the hallway with Frank. Clearly all rational thought left her whenever he was nearby. What overcame her last night to have her practically jumping him in a nuns home—obviously meant she was delusional. Turned crazy from lust.

Yet… never in her life had she been kissed like that. That was a kiss she would never forget.

Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, finally coming out of her lustful thoughts asked, "Where are we going?"

"Paradise."

She glanced up at him, confused. "Paradise?"

He nodded towards a set of folded clothes with basic store-bought flip-flops on top. "I got you some new clothes to wear, I figured wearing a nun's dress isn't ideal."

She frowned at him, her mind fully alert now and racing. "Frank—I don't understand."  
"I'll explain everything on the way. Right now, we need to go before the sisters wake up."

This made her pause, "I thought we trusted Sister Maggie."

"Well considering Murdock showed up last night, without my permission, tells me her alliances are with him."

"And since when is that a bad thing?"

Frank's frown of disapproval was quickly concealed as he glanced towards the door. She noticed then he wore a white t-shirt today and it made him look really, really good. She'd never seen him in anything other than black and… blood, she thought grimly. He looked larger than his usual slimming black. The tanned skin of his arms beneath the white shirt made him look thicker, fuller. But his scars stood out too—the marks on his arms from bullet grazes, knives, or defensive wounds. She suddenly caught herself wondering about the scars on his back and chest—Frank had been shot a lot. Even in front of her—protecting her. He took a few bullets for her. She shifted uncomfortably at the thought.

He wore dark jeans and his boots—no gun. She frowned. Had he been without a gun this whole time? Why hadn't she noticed before? Was he more Frank than the Punisher since last she saw him? What had he been doing since their time apart these long months? Her heart yearned to know.

His voice interrupted her ponderings. "I dunno yet. But he was here last night, and if Fisk is after him and anyone he's close to, it was as stupid move on his part showing up. This place has been compromised."

She processed his words and felt a weight drop into her stomach. Of course he was right. Matt was more than likely being followed, and it didn't matter how good he was at covering his tracks or slipping through a crowd unnoticed. It was a risk. And she was in no position to fight should Fisk's men come for her. She shivered and nodded, slowly getting out of bed. He began to reach for her to steady her.

She shook her head and held out a hand. "No, I can do this."

"Do you need help—uhm, changing?"

She heard the awkwardness in his voice and the slight shifting of his feet. She couldn't stop the smile as she slipped her loose hair behind her ear. "I think I can manage."

He caught sight of her smile and titled his head curiously, eyes narrowing. "What?"

Her smile widened, attempting to hide it by biting her lower lip, which was still raw from… she flushed. His kisses.

"Are you laughin' at me?" He asked, his tone a playful seriousness as he rounded the corner of her bed to stand in front of her.

She mocked gasped, "I wouldn't dare. Not at Frank Castle."

His eyes soften and his hand reached out to tuck the hair behind her other ear. Silence descended on them and their breathing seemed to stop. Touching her so intimately, with familiarity and tenderness. Everything in her body came to life like a light switching on. That's all it took, she almost laughed at the thought—all he had to do was look at her, speak to her in that sultry dark tone, and slip his fingers through her hair…

"I've always wanted to do that…" he whispered, his gaze and fingers trailing through her hair. "That night at the diner. Do you remember that? When you were still figurin' out if you could trust me?"

Karen remembered that night, surprised that he brought it up now. How she went from terrified to—safe, all in a matter of seconds. How he shielded her with his body from a spray of bullets. "If I recall… you were using me as bait." She countered.

"Hellvua bait too." His finger stroked up her cheek bone and over her ear. "We both wanted to trust each other."

"It was a little difficult after that." She attempted to sound strong—defiant, not wanting to reveal her feelings—not wanting to show him how easy he could take her.

He narrowed his dark eyes, unconvinced, then smirked knowingly. "No it wasn't. I felt your trust at the diner. You were scared, sure. But not of me. You knew I wouldn't hurt you."

Her heart fluttered at the truth in his words, but she would not yield. She couldn't. Last night had been a fluke. A moment of weakness, vulnerability, spurred on by an ex-flame and frustrated by her injury. Had she been thinking clearly, like she was now, she would have reminded herself that Frank Castle didn't want her—and he made that known to her months ago. He may desire her, lust for her, but he didn't want to love her. He didn't have room in his heart for that. It was occupied.

"I wanted to touch you…" he admitted. "Touch the light that seemed to shine through your skin." He thumbed her cheek, a warmth spreading through her and seeing the desire spark in his eyes. "You were tired, pissed off and all I wanted to do was be the one that pushed the hair from your face."

Unable to stand the intimacy, his words and needing to end this, Karen reached out with her good arm, and pushed his hand away. Confused, Frank let his hand drop to his side as searched her face curiously, almost hurt.

She ducked her chin down, "I should get changed." Was all she could manage. She heard him grunt and stiffly move away, as though upset yet he said nothing.

She inhaled sharply through her nose, attempting to still her racing heart. She reminded herself that this was for her own good. That she wasn't ready to give the dragon her heart again, only to have him devour her.

A soft buzzing sound erupted into the silent tension of the room. It was his phone.

Frank reached into his back pocket and answered it.

"Yeah?" he growled. "I know what time it is."

The voice on the other end questioned him.

Frank mumbled, "Yeah, I have the address. I know—we're going." He ended the call and headed for the door, "I'll be outside."

"Who was that?" she asked curiously.

"Our asshole travel agent."

* * *

Frank tried not to be distracted by her legs. Her long, long legs which were now relaxed and propped up on his van dashboard as she had tilted her seat back to accommodate her healing wound. The outfit he picked out for her—was a mistake. He should've dressed her in jeans and a sweater. An over-sized sweater. Instead he bought her jean shorts, that were too fucking short in his opinion, that made her ass look phenomenal. And a form fitting black tank top. She wore one of his black hats too to keep her face hidden until they got out of the city. Frank thick framed sunglasses, not knowing how long some of the residents of Hell's Kitchens memories were.

Though he doubted, just like Sister Maggie, many forgot what the Punisher looked like.

They were driving up the coast to a beach town almost ten hours away from the Kitchen. Paradise, according to David, was a retirement community for the wealthy, or for tourists renting for the weekend, which was perfect for their disguise. Frank and Karen were tourists from the South, renting an airb&b for vacation. David managed to hack the website and steal someone else's reservations for the home. He reassured Frank that he took good care of the couple that had originally planned to be there in their place.

They had the house all to themselves for two weeks. Frank felt his eyes pull to her legs again and rubbed his temple. He wanted her bad. Not like before—this felt like some supernatural pull now, unable to resist touching her, kissing her. They had opened Pandora's Box last night with that kiss. Now, Frank couldn't resist Karen Page, not if his life dependent on it.

_Fuck_, he thought. Maybe this was inevitable between them. They had built up the suspense of 'them' for years. Of course, when the levees broke—it would be unstoppable.

He wouldn't last an hour with her alone in a house with a bed before tearing off her clothes and walking her naked into the bedroom and devouring her. He wanted her—wanted to fuck her, make love to her, feel those beautiful damned legs wrapped around his hips as she rode him. He wanted every position with her, and in every position, wanted to hear her scream and moan and cum.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck…!_

Frank rubbed harder on his temple, feeling the headache form behind his eyelids.

He needed coffee and food. And sex. Lots and lots of sex with the angel next to him.

"Tell me about David," Karen asked. "You two sound close."

Frank grateful for the distraction, answered. "He's a good man. He helped me find out who murdered my family. He did it—well, it's complicated. I tried to keep his family safe while he was helping me. He made a lot of sacrifices. I owe him everything—but he's like you. Doesn't care too much for repaying debts."

She smiled at this. "He sounds like an amazing guy. I'd love to meet him some day."

Frank shot her a glance. He liked the idea of Karen meeting the Lieberman's. "You should meet his kids too, and his wife." He cracked a sheepish smile, "The whole family is great." He pulled out his phone and unlocked it with his thumb, pulling up the file of David's family. It was a file of photos. "That's Sarah and the kids…"

Karen took his phone and eyed the first photo which was of Sarah and Zack, smiling at a Christmas present. "That's Zach and Sarah," he explained. "He's a little shit sometimes, like his dad, and… that his daughter. She's a tough one—sweet though."

She swiped to the next picture and saw a group shot of all of them, including Frank, in front of their Christmas tree. "Looks like your part of the family." Karen said with a surprised yet warm smile.

"Yeah. I'm lucky. I feel like the stray they adopted from the pound."

"You look like more than a stray…!" He glanced at the picture she was referring to. It was David, his long arm wrapped around Frank, both had wine glasses in their hands, laughing.

"Yeah, David's a fun drunk. Jesus, he knows how to make me laugh, especially when he's had a few."

"You look happy," she felt almost in awe over these photos. He was sharing a part of him that he didn't share with many. Frank kept his secrets, his people, close to his chest. "These are great memories, Frank."

Frank shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat and shrugged, "They're just pictures."

"Pictures that you kept." She said with her own shoulder shrug and knowing smile, as she flipped through the holiday pictures once more. "If they were meaningless pictures, you would've just deleted them. Obviously, this family means something to you."

He gritted his teeth and looked head on to the road, refusing to say more. "What about you?" He redirected, not really wanting to acknowledge how special David's family was to him. Damnit, he thought, why couldn't he just say it—say that he loved that family. He sighed, he knew exactly why. Loving felt dangerous. Loving meant loss. And his heart couldn't handle that again.

Determined to distract himself again, he said, "New York ain't your hometown—I can tell. Where do you go home to for the holidays Karen Page?"

She hesitated, the smile fading from her expression. He felt a shift in her, this time—it was a wall dropping down, closing him out.

The darkness inside his soul stirred awake, alarmed by this sudden change.

Her voice was light, yet the subject did not match her tone. "My home is Hell's Kitchen. I don't have any family. My mom died when I was six in a car accident, and my dad died when I was in college—lung cancer. Only child. No cousins or grandparents to write home to. Just me."

Frank sat back in his seat, surprised. An unexpected sadness crept over him. Karen had been alone for most of her life. She was alone—just like him. Maybe she tried to replace that with Matt and Foggy but look how that turned out, he thought bitterly. He suddenly understood her a little more now, despite the wall—that her darkness started young. But it wasn't strong enough to snuff out her light.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He replied.

"It's fine, I wasn't close with them. My dad was not a… good person. College was my escape from all that. I went back for his funeral and that's the last I saw of him."

"Yeah—my dad wasn't exactly father of the year either. I joined the military to get away from him. Guess we have more in common than I realized."

She nodded, searching him curiously, "What about your mom?"

"Divorced when I was a teen. Didn't see the point in building a relationship with someone who didn't want me. She passed away right after I married Maria. Had a brain aneurism—died peacefully in her sleep. I guess that's somethin'."

She said nothing at this, knowing that a 'sorry' wasn't what he wanted.

Frank wanted to know more about her past. He didn't know a lot about her other than who she was now. But what shaped her, he wondered. "Where'd you go to college?"

"UCLA."

Taken aback, he laughed. "I hadn't realized."

She shot him a look, "What? Did you expect some southern small-town college?"

"I dunno, I guess UCLA wasn't where I pictured you."

"That's probably why I went there. It was far enough from dad and so different than where I grew up. I needed to start fresh. LA was the first place I fell in love with big cities." She smiled as she seemed to be transported into her memories, "I loved being anonymous—I know how that sounds, but I did. I lived in a small town growing up and everyone knew everything about everyone. You couldn't walk to the grocery store without bumping into ten people you knew. And I hated it."

"How come?" He asked.

She paused for a long time. She was hiding from him, he felt it.

"C'mon Karen—you know more about me than most, hell probably more than anyone."

She let out a reluctant sigh and twisted her hands in her lap. "You're right. I guess I just haven't talked about it for so long… my dad was the town drunk. If he wasn't in jail for being an idiot than he was constantly under investigation from… child protective services."

Frank stilled.

"Teachers, neighbors—often called and reported the bruises they saw on me. He eventually figured out to stop hitting me in obvious places. That's when…" she swallowed thickly. "That's when it got worse, but no one knew. Or claimed they didn't know. Either way, people stopped caring—stopped calling to make sure I was all right."

"Jesus, Karen—I'm sorry." He swallowed the anger that tightened bitterly at his throat. "How the fuck did he get away with that for so long in a small town?"

"His best drinking buddy was the local sheriff—chargers just never seemed to stick."

"He's lucky he's dead." Frank breathed through his nose, his teeth mashing. Nobody hurt his girl and got away with it… nobody. "No wonder you ran away. I get it. And fuck him."

Karen's laugh was unexpected. It was laughter mixed with—grief. "Yeah, fuck him. You know, I've been in therapy the past year to—to figure out my dad issues. And I think that you and my therapist, would really get along."

He snorted, grinning. "Yeah? Good. I'm glad to hear your takin' care of yourself." Deciding it felt safe, he admitted. "I've been in therapy for the past 6 months, not as long as you, but it's helped. Helped a lot. I've been able to actually grieve, without the violence. Love them and…" he cleared his throat roughly, "let'em go at the same time."

Karen stared in shock at him, "Frank…". Her hand reached out and took his, squeezing reassuringly. "That's incredible. What made you decide to ask for help?"

He inhaled, wanting to tell her the truth—wanting her to know it was because of her. Tell her she was right about loving those in her dreams and how wrong he was. He could love his family and never stop loving then—but he could love again. He didn't have to keep loving the past and neglect his future, his present.

"I didn't have any war to fight anymore. Figured it was time." He lied.

Her shoulders released as she quickly looked away, the hat obscuring her face from him. Finally, after a long minute, she spoke. "I'm happy for you, Frank."

He wanted to shout the truth—Jory's voice in his head telling him that loving someone knew was a 'leap of faith' but a part of him wasn't ready. He wasn't ready for that leap. He didn't trust his own heart. Not anymore.

"Can we—can we pull off for a second?" Karen asked.

"Yeah." He turned off into the first off ramp, driving up to a busy gas station.

She was out of the car the second he was in park. He cursed low under his breath and felt his headache reach hellish levels. Frank titled his head back into the seat, rubbing a hand over his face. _Damnit_, he thought, _did he fuck this up again?_

Frank knew he was a clumsy bastard when it came to talking about feelings. He wasn't good at it like her. Reluctantly, he opened the van door and got out, cursing the whole way as he went to the pump and topped off on gas. He wasn't sure what he was expecting from her. Well, he did reject her months ago. Something he couldn't forgive himself for. Maybe she wasn't ready to forgive him either?

He heard the bell chime of the quick-stop-gas-station open. He glanced over to see Karen hurrying out. Her ponytail swishing behind her and her lean legs moving in a clipped pace. His stomach unexpectedly tightened.

"Hey," she said approaching him. "I don't have my purse… and I can't use any of my credit cards, even if I had them."

The knot in his stomach released, grunting in understanding. He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and handed her a twenty-dollar bill.

"Is that enough?"

"Plenty. Thank you."

She spun on her heel and quickly headed back inside. He heard the gas click, alerting him it was finished. His gaze felt distracted however, watching her through the large windows of the gas station. Karen was talking politely to the clerk and smiled radiantly. Frank swallowed. Feeling awkward as a high school teenager, Frank muttered another confused curse and shoved the gas hose back into the slot, tightening the gas cap.

He heard the roar of a motorcycle pull up to the gas station. He watched as a figure dressed in black step off the bike, leaving their helmet on to pump gas. He realized then it was a woman, her small frame could've easily been mistaken for a teen boy. She placed the pump in her bike and headed inside to the store, slipping her helmet off. Her hair was cropped short, buzzed cut in the back, and the black ink of a tattoo snaked up her neck.

His gaze cut back to Karen, who seemed distracted by something inside the store, unaware of the female motorist heading towards her. Something dangerous slipped inside his gut. It had been a long time since he felt that warning tightening in his body to protect—to move—to shoot. Yet this woman gave him no reason to be suspicious.

The female motorist asked something of the clerk and accidently bumped into Karen. Karen apologized instantly at the woman, who smiled thinly at her before walking into the back of the store where the restrooms where. Something about that woman struck him as off.

Finally, the tension twisting at his gut subsided as Karen came strolling out of the store, the strange female biker all but forgotten. To his surprise, he saw what she had been distracted with. Two cups of coffee in her hands, with a fresh donut on top with a napkin wrapped around the maple frosting. He arched an eyebrow at this.

"Breakfast of champions." She smirked, "With frosting."

He chuckled and accepted the coffee and donut. "Thanks.'

He noted the plastic bag with additional things inside wrapped around her wrist.

"No thank you, you technically paid for it."

He nodded, taking a grateful fist sip and bite of his donut. "Perfect."

She flashed him a smile, a smile that was real—lighting up her beautiful face and sky blue eyes. He wanted to touch her again. He wanted to capture her, keep her—forever, he realized, his heart thudding against his chest. _Damn Frank_, he thought with an internal sigh, _you're lost man_.

"Can I drive?" She asked with a coy, mischievous look.

He snorted, "No."

She nudged him, "C'mon—I got you coffee and a donut."

"Which I paid for."

She scoffed, "Semantics. And I already thanked you for it. Just a couple hours."

"Nope, nobody drives my baby but me."

"Baby?"

Frank grinned, eyeing her beneath his sunglasses. "Every man names his car."

"Baby isn't a name."

"Yeah, it is. What's in the bag?"

A sudden blush crept over her cheeks. "Snacks and… stuff." He watched her chest heave as she caught her breath. Desire spread over him like wildfire. _God_, he thought, this would be the longest drive in his life.

* * *

The female motorist watched from the window of the store at Karen Page and the man in the sunglasses. She slipped a phone from her jacket pocket and kept her eyes closely on them. She didn't recognize the man. She wasn't there for him. She wanted the woman.

Karen got into the black van, followed by the larger man. Instantly, she moved, leaving the store and walking determinedly to her bike, phone out. She clicked her camera on, capturing a picture of the license plate as it sped off, back onto the highway.

She texted the picture, along with a text message. "KP found. Traveling in black van with unknown male."

She slipped on her helmet, pulled out the gas hose and started up her bike. Her phone vibrated, cueing the response text message: "KP alive to receive payment. No witnesses."

_**TBC**_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

It was still daylight by the time they reached Paradise. Karen had never even heard of this place and was surprised at how perfect it was. The small sign leading them into the town read: _Paradise, home away from home by the sea_. She smiled. How long had it been since she'd been to the ocean? Too long, she thought. She rolled down her window and listened to the crashing waves in the distance, the seagulls cawing above, enjoying the warm breeze against her face. The smell of the sea felt inviting. The winding road that lead into Paradise was worth it because the second they emerged from the road—the sea was revealed.

She sighed dreamily.

"Man, it's been a long time since I've seen that." Frank said to her.

"I was just thinking the same thing," she murmured, smiling at him.

Frank had punched in the location of the house on his phone. On their way, the drove through the town of Paradise. They passed a quaint coffee shop, the local grocery store, antique shops, wine bars and a brewery, a few mom and pop restaurants, and fashion boutiques. It was a tourist spot, she thought, noting the well kempt flowers and trees lining the streets. It reminded her of something from a movie—too perfect to be real.

"God, where are we?" She said more to herself than Frank.

He snorted, "Another planet."

It took them only a few more minutes to locate the beach house. They took the road upwards until they reached the last house on top of the hill. Frank let out an impressed whistle. Karen gaped. The beach house was astounding. Long glass windows, with red brick and wooden beams. It was modern architecture mixed with a beach house. Frank parked the van in the massive driveway.

Sitting momentarily stunned he said to her, "We're here."

She laughed in surprised, "Was this what you were expecting?"

"Not at all."

"Your friend really out did himself with this safehouse."

"Yeah," Frank commented thoughtfully, almost suspiciously, "He did…"

They climbed out of the van. Karen stretching her back and rotating her hips slightly, careful not to jar her wound. It had been a long, somewhat uncomfortable drive and her body required movement. Frank found the hide-a-key where David had instructed it would be and unlocked the front door. He hesitated before instructing her, "Stay here."

"You can't be serious?"

He simply nodded and headed inside first. A few minutes later he emerged, looking exasperated, "C'mon—if you think the outside is nice. Just wait."

Karen was filled with sudden excitement and brushed past him inside. The house was insanely cool. The doorway led immediately into the front room, which had a large screen tv, couches and coffee table, along with elegant décor that matched the lavishness of the house. From the living room led into the kitchen, all white marble counter tops with a bottle of wine and fresh fruit spread out for them. She noted the card resting against the bottle.

Her eyes moved past the kitchen and into the dining room where there was beautiful wall length windows that looked out onto the ocean. Karen walked instinctively to the windows, mesmerized by the beauty. She opened the sliding glass door and walked outside onto the deck. There was a glass firepit and couches, the sounds and sight of the beach called to her down the slope of the hill. There was a wooden stairway that led from the patio to the beach below. She inhaled the fresh air, felt the sun warm her skin and sighed. Holy shit, she thought, this is fucking fabulous. The beach was sandy and tempting her to walk on, and it was empty. She glanced down both ways, noting the other houses and yet it felt isolated. No one was on the beach.

She heard a sudden curse behind her. Turning, she saw Frank reading the card and eyeing the bottle of wine angrily.

"What is it?" She asked, stepping back inside and closing the sliding door behind her.

Frank's handsome rough features almost didn't seem to fit the style of the house, which was a funny thought to her, considering the only place he probably looked more at home was in a log cabin or bar or… she wouldn't think jail. But it was sorta the truth, she supposed. Frank never struck her as the type of man who needed to be perceived as wealthy, or above others—he was the most grounded, honest man she knew. Who didn't seem to care about wealth as much as the character of a person. She liked that about him.

"David… you son of a bitch." He muttered and tossed the card onto the marble countertop. Karen's curiosity took hold and she opened the card.

"Congratulations Frank & Karen on this special occasion! We're excited you wanted to share this special time at our beach house. Make yourselves at home! Feel free to call if you need anything at all. Happy Engagement & cheers! We hope you enjoy the wine. Warmly, Sue & Ken Smithson."

Karen burst out laughing.

Frank stared incredulously at her. "Well I'm glad someone thinks this is funny."

She laughed harder at his reaction, tears forming at her eyes.

"Laugh it up, obviously being engaged to me is hilarious." He grumbled, sounding almost butt-hurt by her response. Karen touched her chest with her hand, unable to catch her breath from the laughter.

"Oh God, my side…" she wiped the tears, moving her hand to her side but couldn't stop laughing.

"I'll go get our stuff." Frank shook his head, though she caught a glimpse of a smile on his handsome lips before he strolled back out to the van. Karen grabbed the bottle of wine, grinning like a fool. Her reaction at the idea of them engaged wasn't laughable at all, she thought. In fact, she had been flooded with emotion just reading that card. It wasn't until she looked up and saw the helpless look on his face, almost embarrassed, is when the nervous energy transformed into laughter.

Since their conversation hours earlier on the road to Paradise—Karen wasn't sure how to feel. Hope was a dangerous thing for Karen when it came to Frank. Every time she did—he broke her heart just a little bit more because of the disappointment that followed. Yet the words came from his own mouth now. That he was grieving and beginning to let himself live, without the need to punish himself and those around him. Maybe because it had taken him so long to get to this point, that it eventually led to her breaking point.

Karen could forgive the violence. She had done violent things too. As she reached for the wine bottle, she realized, Frank had to earn her trust back.

Twisting out the cork from the wine bottle, she used one of the stemmed glasses left out for them. She poured a hearty glass of red wine and decided to continue exploring the house, taking a couple fresh grapes. The only room she really wanted to see next was the bedroom. She walked down the hallway and opened the door. A king's size bed, grey and white coloring of the room, giving it a cozy—sexy feel. She let out a long sigh, feeling her body tingle in sudden alertness. Imagining Frank peeling off his shirt, standing before her as she watched him strip, slowly unbuckling his belt and zipping down the length of himself, hard and ready for her. Desire coursed through her body like wildfire.

"Jesus," he muttered behind her. She jumped, face flushing with embarrassment, her wine jostled in her hand.

He looked at her worriedly, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I didn't hear you…" she turned away, refusing to let him see her pink cheeks.

He set down a large brown box on the edge of the bed. "You'll take this room- there's a guest room down the hall."

She merely nodded.

He glanced around her room now and shook his head, "I'm gonna have to get used to this." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded paper. "Found this in the mailbox."

Karen kept her distance from him as she reached out and took the paper. She didn't trust herself alone in a bedroom with this man. She quickly unfolded it and saw the bold lettering on top: "Paradise Carnival! Come one, come all! 2 nights only, join in on the fun. Rides, live music, games, and so much more!"

She realized that it was the last night of the carnival reading the dates.

"You wanna go?" He asked—almost awkwardly.

Surprised, she glanced up at him. "I would love too. I just don't have anything else to wear—and I'm starving."

"David covered all that for us." Frank motioned to the box. "He ordered us both clothes online. Figured it would be hard to have a dead woman walking around too long looking for an outfit. He also stocked up our fridge with food."

Her jaw dropped, "Wow. That's incredible."  
"I guess working with spies for long enough, kinda makes you one too."

"I'll be forever grateful for his generosity." She leaned against the doorframe, feeling overwhelmed with emotion, carefully setting her wine glass down on the dresser, her hands trembling. How long had it been since anyone in her life stepped up for her like this? Sure, Sister Maggie helped because of Matt—but then he demanded her to return the favor and stand against Fisk, only putting her in more danger than before and knowingly. Normally Karen never shied away from a fight, but having nearly died—it changed her perspective a little and how much she already did for Matt, for Hell's Kitchen, against Fisk and those like him. She gave enough blood for Hell's Kitchen to last a lifetime. Yet it didn't make her love her city any less. But she needed a break. She realized that now, standing in the most gorgeous house she'd ever seen, with the beach feet away from her. And with Frank.

She raced a hand through her hair, realizing that David was a stranger to her—he only was doing this because of Frank. In which their relationship—their friendship—whatever it was, only seemed to ever connect whenever there was violence in one another's life. Karen didn't want anymore violence. She wanted to live—to have a life.

A stranger had done more for her than anyone in her life. Frank had done more for her, after rejecting her from his life. Tears unexpectedly gathered under her eyes and slipped down her cheeks.

"Karen," Frank began slowly. "C'mon, there's no need for that…"

Unable to stop herself again, she went to him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him in a deep hug. Frank hesitated a mere second before engulfing her, his strong arms heavy against her body. She felt his hand stroke the back of her neck, a soft sigh leaving his body as they embraced.

"I could still be in Hell's Kitchen… I could've been found by Fisk by now… I could've been dead if it weren't for you and David." She pulled back from him, wiping furiously at her tears. "God I'm such an idiot for thinking Matt would protect me. He cares more about himself and that fucking city than me."

"Because Murdock's a jackass. I figured that out day one."

Her anger seemed to grow in her chest, "I'm stupid too, thinking I could protect myself in a city ran by a psycho. And for what? I don't have a life! I don't have anything to show for it!"

"Stop." Frank's hands framed her face, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were dark and stormy, brewing with that intensity she had seen only a handful of times. "You've done more for that city than Murdock has. He thinks punching his way through crime is how you stop it. But it ain't. You've exposed sex trafficking rings, crime cartels, drug movements, victim stories, murder and corruption in a city desperate for light. That's you Karen. That's who you are. Light in the darkest of corners."

"I've burnt out, Frank. I don't feel that light anymore."

He instantly grabbed her again, holding her tight against him, shaking his head. "I don't believe that. And neither do you. But if you are—truly burnt, we're not leaving this place until we find it again, you got me?"

She could only think to nod, her tears soaking his shirt. She turned her face into his neck and breathed, "Thank you. Thank you for coming for me. You really didn't have to but I'm glad you did."

Something seemed to shift in Frank then. His words were gruff and yet soft as he said, "I'll always come for you, Karen."

He pulled back from their embrace just enough to tilt her chin up and kiss her. She expected it to be tender, soft even. Maybe because she was feeling so vulnerable. But his kiss was the exact opposite. It was hard and brutal. Slamming his lips into hers. She moaned as he ravished her over and over, all she could do was hang onto him, barely able to kiss him back. His lips were achingly delicious. She never felt more wanted by a mere kiss. An endless, devouring kiss that demanded her full attention—demanded everything from her.

Her heart ripped inside her, realizing that Frank could kill her. Kill her not with a bullet. But with his love. If he could ever love her.

She pulled back enough to gasp for air, her lungs burning from their kiss, tears slipping down her face still. His thumb roughly wiped the side of her cheek, as he dipped his face down again, not stopping, refusing to back down. Refusing to stop kissing her. His tongue opened the seam of her lips and dipped inside, taking his fill. She whimpered, letting him take her to the edge—the edge of desire—of want—of seduction.

Her limbs quaked, her skin shivered, and her muscles tensed. Leaning into him, she brushed herself against his hardness. She gasped against his lips feeling his thick, very full erection pressing against her good side. Oh god that made her shiver uncontrollably. Her mind went blank with need and she pulled away from his kiss, moving her lips from his cheek to his neck, letting him take his fill of touching her. She felt his hand slip over her ass and grip tight, the other palming her breast through the thin layer of cotton. The roughness of his touch was not unpleasant—but erotic and different. Karen instantly liked it.

Her lips found his pulse beating hard against his throat and sucked. He groaned, pulling her away from his throat and back to his mouth, devouring her once more. Karen knew she had the power to give herself completely to him in this moment. The bed a foot behind them, alone in this big house—no one interrupting them, stopping this. She almost felt the sense of inevitability yet couldn't keep listening and letting her heart lead. She couldn't. It always led her down a path of pain.

Karen pulled away from his perfect, sensuous lips. He attempted to lure her back, she physically had to put her finger over his lips, panting hard. "I want this—I want you, Frank," she admitted. His eyes lit with a dangerous fire so intense it could burn through her very soul. She shivered. "I know that this would be unforgettable, with you, in this incredible house. But I can't because it's you… and I don't have anything left to give you, Frank."

His eyes closed, as if she had physically hurt him. Unexpectedly he dropped his forehead against hers, resting there, unwilling to let her go just yet.

He sighed between them and nodded, seeming to understand her. Understand that she could give him his body, but it also came with her heart. And she couldn't risk her heart again.

He pulled back, kissing her forehead gently and began walking out of her room before he hesitated and turned slightly back to her, "Get cleaned up—changed. I'll make us some food and let's go to that carnival."

"Frank…"

"I get it, Karen. You don't have to explain. I would tell me the same thing in your shoes. And damned, if you've given me more chances than I deserve. I wanna…" He hesitated, before continuing, "You've helped me through so much of my bullshit. The least I can do for you is the same. I want you to have a life—to get that spark back. It may not be with some stupid carnival or a fancy beach house, but damned if I won't try."

She held back the tears and laughed a little, relief spreading through her.

"You may not feel that light now, but it's there, cause I'm seeing it." He told her, shaking his head, his eyes moving over her.

She swallowed, seeing the warmth in his expression and something more, something deeper. She turned away from his gaze and with a simple shutting of the door, the deafening sound of a door click, Karen was alone and felt as if she made the biggest mistake of her life.

* * *

Frank showered in the guest room that he had sequestered himself in after his moment with Karen. God damnit it felt so right—so blissfully, incredibly right to hold her in his arms, kiss her pink luscious lips until she was gasping for breath. Unashamed, Frank was barely a second in the shower before he reached between his legs and grasped his aching erection. Water pooled over his back in the rainfall shower, the stones surrounding him mimicking the sounds of water falls as he slicked his hand with soap and gripped his cock. He nearly burst at his own touch. He had wanted her so badly that he may have embarrassed himself had they decided to do something on that big bed of hers.

He leaned his hand against the stone wall of the shower, the other moving quickly and efficiently over his massive hard on. It didn't take long for him to cum, as his mind went back to their shared kisses, panting, moaning, gasps of breath, feeling her ass and gripping her breasts. He cursed viciously as he came, instant relief and sudden frustration filled him. He felt momentarily physically satisfied, but it wasn't enough to stop the irritation with himself. He was a goddamned fool, he thought angrily. He showered quickly. The heat of the water suddenly unbearable.

Karen was right. She'd given him more—so much more than he'd ever given to her. And in the end, their last encounter together half a year ago, she offered her love. He snapped, yanking the towel off the rack and with jerking movements, wiped off the water on his body. He walked naked into his room and ripped open the cardboard box that held fresh clothes. He yanked on the boxers, dark navy jeans and black t-shirt. There was a crisp and surprisingly nice gray button up short sleeve shirt in the box too. He slipped it on and didn't bother buttoning it yet as he sat on the edge of his bed, slipping on socks and his black boots.

Frank realized then where the anger was directed—himself. He hurt her. Something he could and would never forgive himself for. He could protect her from a spray of damned bullets, but he couldn't protect her from his own actions. His utter stupidity. Yet he had rationalized everything in his mind, believing he was protecting her from him—except her life was just, if not, more dangerous than his own. He read it every other week in the newspaper her dangerous actions that lead to a breaking story.

And her choices in this life has cost her. He saw it now, understood it as she confessed to him that the people closet to her weren't there in her moment of need. His anger swiftly turned to sadness as he headed out of his room and to the kitchen. He could hear Karen's shower and sighed. She needed people in her life that cared—that would fight for her, protect her.

He wanted that to be him. And only him, he suddenly realized.

Yanking open the fridge he pulled out some deli sandwiches and a beer. David had been overly generous for them—the food, the clothes—the booze. He owed David a tremendous amount for this. He would text him later, he decided.

Frank thought about the moment he found the flyer for the town festival. Carnival rides, live music, games and food trucks. That sounded fun. Normal. Something he could do with Karen one night maybe as a… he swallowed, date night.

God, he thought, what would that be like? Taking her on a date? Really? He needed to do a hellvua lot more than a night out to repair the damage he'd done. Feeling a sense of determination fill him, he pulled out a couple plates, set her food out and found the pantry, digging out a bag of dill flavored chips. He would make sure she had fun tonight, he told himself. He would bend over backwards just to see his girl smile—to get back to herself—be reminded that the world wasn't all darkness. That she could be normal. If just for one damned night.

Frank sipped his beer thoughtfully. Would it be better if he kept his distance from her? Give her space from him…? Let her decide when she was ready, he wondered. A part of him rebelled at that idea because it meant not touching her, not kissing her. He took another long swig of his beer. Frank came to the reckless decision then. He wouldn't give her space—he was done keeping her at arm's reach. He done it for years with Karen Page. Now it was time to turn up the heat and make her unable to deny him—deny the spark, the fire between them.

He may struggle with admitting his feelings to her, and he'd work real damn hard on it in the next few weeks with her. But damn it, he was not wasting this precious time with her by being some mopey, distant asshole. Fuck that, he thought. He would have her, taste her, kiss every inch of her body before they left this place. He would earn her trust back. Trust he wouldn't hurt her again. And he had two weeks to prove it.

_**TBC**_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The last time Frank was at a carnival like this, it was with his family. He still remembered their faces clearly, looking up at him—his kids smiling and laughing. They were good kids, strong, smart, funny. He was a lucky father. A lucky husband.

He heard Karen's voice now besides him as she bought tickets, with cash, for the rides and games.

He felt that same, old familiar feeling whenever he was with her. The same feeling he had for wife and his kids. He knew exactly what it was. But he wouldn't acknowledge. Couldn't. It wasn't a betrayal of his past life with his wife and kids. He knew that now. It was the fear. Fear of loosing something he couldn't live without that scared him to his very core. And loosing someone like her—his Karen, was unthinkable.

He heard kids laughing behind him and glanced towards the fairish wheel, which sparkled with brilliant colored lights as families stood in line for it. He saw himself in that line, with his kids. Yet… he was different now. It was as if his own memories felt like a ghost into a world he didn't belong anymore. He knew Maria wouldn't have accepted the man he became. She would have taken the kids and left, after all the killing he'd done. She wouldn't have recognized the Frank Castle he was today.

Despite the change, the violence, the brutality of what his life had become—he somehow managed to ensnare an angel along the way. He glanced back to her. Her long red blond hair was braided down her side, tossed over her shoulder. A few loose strands of hair were tucked back by her fingers as she smiled kindly at the man in the ticket booth. Sometimes he wondered if she were conscious of those fingers moving over her skin. He was. Every time. Wishing and wanting it to be his fingers that did that.

Karen walked away from the booth, her shorts were a little longer, which he wasn't sure if he liked still. According to her they were beach shorts with the unraveled look to them. Her blouse was a pretty red that hung off her shoulders, exposing the skin above her breasts and neck. She wore different sandals too, sturdier than the flip-flops he had picked up for her at the Goodwill. There hadn't been any makeup in her box, so her skin was bare and beautiful. He didn't understand makeup at times—feeling that every woman was beautiful in their own unique way without all that face paint to what- conceal themselves? Karen didn't need that junk.

She caught him looking at him and smiled softly, her face pinking in that gorgeous damned blush she did. His own expression soften and he smiled back at her like a smitten fool. "So what did my money get us?"

"20 whole tickets." She said in mock amazement. "Enough for probably a few rides and two games."

"Sounds like highway robbery."

"Welcome to carnivals," she replied drily but with her same smile. "Did you know that almost half of the games here are impossible to win just by physics."

"Why am I not surprised?" He turned down the isle of carnival games. He saw basketball games, darts, ring tosses and… shooting. "What about that one?" He motioned her to look at the air gun game with the targets lined up against a moving backdrop.

"Probably rigged somehow. But I've got 20 tickets burning a hole in my pocket. Let's go."

They headed over to the air gun booth. He had been surprised when they arrived earlier how busy the carnival had been. Sometimes the last nights at local fairs like these meant less people. Not this town. Kids and families came out in droves, lined up for junk food and cotton candy, rides that flipped people upside down, while some people were waiting for the band to begin out by the outdoor stage area.

By the time they had arrived, after showers, clean clothes and a couple sandwiches—him a few beers and Karen a very full glass of wine, the sun was setting and the carnival lights were burning bright. Frank had debated on bringing a gun but decided against it, even thought about stashing it in Karen's purse which she said came in her box. He glanced down to her brown leather purse that was slung across her body.

"What do you need a purse for?" He had asked when he saw her walk out of the house with it. "You don't have a phone or wallet…"

"Force of habit. Besides, we're going to a carnival I might win something I can put in this lovely new bag." She mockingly gave it an airy gesture with her hands as if she were advertising it on a game show.

Frank was smiling by the time they reached the shooting booth. They arrived in time to witness a disappointed teenager walk away empty handed with his date. Frank noted the prizes were stuffed unicorns. The teen kicked angrily at the dirt and slung a limp arm over his pretty blond date, who reassured him that the game was 'rigged' anyway as they headed for the rides. Frank smirked at that. Karen handed the man operating the booth the tickets. He didn't smile as he simply handed them two, bright yellow air guns. They were lighter than the real thing.

"Win the big prize if you hit all the targets." He said unenthusiastically. "First round you, second round the lady."

Frank glanced at Karen, "Hope you want a giant unicorn."

She chuckled, "You could be fulfilling a very real childhood dream of mine, Frank."

He smirked and gripped his gun the way he would the real thing and aimed it at the targets. The operate counted down from 3 and began rotating the targets on a crank. Frank responded after only watching the sequenced pattern of the movements for a second and began firing. There were ten targets in all. It was over in less than 5 seconds—every target was down.

Karen applauded unimpressively. "Wow, didn't see that coming."

He smirked and handed the gun back, waiting to get the giant unicorn that was promised.

The man shook his head, "Lady has to knock down all ten targets too. You're shooting as a team."

"What? You didn't say that earlier." He retorted, feeling robbed of his victory.

The man shrugged, "Carnival rules."

"Yeah, whatever man." Frank turned back to Karen, who was glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "What?"

"You don't think I can hit all those targets, do you?" She challenged.

He liked this part of Karen, all fiery and full of righteous indignation. It reminded him of when she was on his legal team, defending him. "I didn't say that…"

"Uh-huh," she brushed past him to the front of the booth, a line beginning to form behind them. All wanting the elusive prize and bragging rights.

The operate began his countdown, Karen raised her gun. He thought of a few times Karen had pointed a gun, a few times at him too. He crossed his arms over his chest, ready to see his girl in action.

"3…2…1…"

The targets sprang up from their fallen deaths and began rotating in a completely new pattern than the one Frank fired to. He watched in amazement as Karen methodically hit every target. She may have taken longer due to her concentration, but it didn't matter—she hit all the damned targets. He laughed in genuine surprise as she lowered her gun, looking obscenely proud of herself.

"Alright, Rambo- you win." He commented, impressed, as she shot him a dazzling grin. The operator, looking shocked shook his head and walked behind the curtain and returned with a massive stuffed unicorn.

Frank let out a puff of breath, "Unless Mary Poppins sent her you a bag, I don't think that thing is gonna fit in your purse."

Karen snorted at the sight of the human sized stuff animal and shook her head. "Is it okay if I get something smaller?" She asked politely to the booth operator.

Relief spread over the man's face by her request and nodded happily. He pulled out a stuffed unicorn keychain. She took it with a thank you. The people in the line behind her gaped in shock at her denying the unicorn but she didn't seem to notice, clipping her keychain onto her purse.

"So is there any other games you wanna surprise the hell outta me with?" He asked her.

She rolled her eyes at him, "You know I carry a gun—so you must know I go to the shooting range."

"How often? Those were great shots."

"Thank you, well considering I live and work in one of the most notoriously dangerous cities on the planet, I go to the firing range a lot." She glanced proudly down at her keychain, "The most over-priced keychain, right here."

"Oh yeah, how many tickets was that booth?"  
She snorted, "10."

He chuckled. "Maybe we should've taken the giant unicorn."

They walked through the crowds, enjoying the sights and taking in the fun, lively vibe in the atmosphere. The stopped occasionally to watch a couple brave kids make their attempts at the games before walking towards the stage. The band was southern blues rock and was beginning to rev up the crowd with the guitar. Frank asked to watch a few songs, Karen agreed wholeheartedly. During one of the songs, she motioned she would be going to the bar tent a few yards away. He simply nodded and kept his eyes glued to her as she stood in line. The person checking IDs seemed to be giving her a hard time for not having one on her. She shrugged and said something Frank couldn't quite make out. The younger man glanced around to see if his supervisor was watching and stamped the top of her hand and let her inside. She grinned gratefully and slipped inside the white tent.

Frank's heart accelerated. He didn't like not being able to see her, yet knew she was fine. The band's song ended and the crowd roared in approval. Frank was too tense to clap. Finally, after what felt like the longest few minutes of his life, she reappeared at the exit side of the tent, two plastic cups full of cold beer and walked back to him.

She handed him a cup, "This band is fantastic!" She said to him as they began playing again.

He nodded in agreement and thanked her for the beer. But it was so loud she didn't hear him, stepping closer. He took this open opportunity of her naive innocence and slipped his free arm around her, dragging her up against his side and said huskily into her ear, "Thank you for the beer."

He watched the blush stain her cheeks once more. She shot him a quick glance, her bright blue eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. Memorized by her, he saw her tongue dart out quickly and wet her lips, her chest rising in a breath. Unable to help himself, Frank dipped in close and took those wet lips into his mouth, demandingly opening her mouth with his and kissing her right there, in the middle of the concert, good music rushing over them and people dancing and talking all around them. None of it mattered to him, nothing but her and this moment. Frank felt happy. He hadn't felt happiness like this in so, so long. A part of him ripped open as he realized this. A part of him that needed this—needed her, like he needed his next breath.

He felt his blood begin to overheat and his desire for her fill his cock. He really didn't want to have a hard on in this crowd. But damn he wanted her. Wanted her here and now. Wanted her tonight. And every night. He pulled, reluctantly, away from their incredible kiss and he took a big drink of his beer, practically gulping it down. Karen tried to move away, but he wouldn't let her, keeping his arm firm around her waist and close to his body. She shot him a hard look, her lips bruised red with his kiss. Jesus he couldn't wait to finally take her. He would, he promised himself that. And he would wait for when she was ready. But that didn't mean he didn't get to steal a kiss here or there.

"That was some thank you," she muttered next to him.

He simply smirked and sipped his beer, letting out a hum of approval. "I wouldn't mind spending all day thanking you, Karen."

Cue the bright pink blush. "And all night," he added. Her face now a hot red. He watched as she nervously chewed on her lower lip, sighing into her beer before taking a pretty hardy drink herself.

He was getting to her. It was only a matter of time before she snapped. And she was his. She already was. She just hadn't accepted it yet.

He tapped his foot to the beat of the music and cheered along with the crowd.

* * *

They ended up staying for a good portion of the show, enjoying the band too much to leave right away. They both seemed to like people watching as well, saying very little during the show, letting their eyes wonder and ears listen to the music. Karen had to get used to Frank holding her too, his arm seemingly glued around her waist. At first she kinda liked it, then he kissed her—sending her head spinning and her heart jumping out of her chest. After that, it was hard to be so close to him without wanting to claw his clothes from his muscle bond body and kiss the hell outta him. She spent the rest of the show attempting to still her racing heart. She drank her beer quickly which helped take the edge off.

Frank meanwhile seemed all too pleased with himself, as if he had purposefully done this to her—pushing her out of her comfort zone and making her squirm. He smirked the entire damned show, the bastard, she thought.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced towards the rides and saw a horror themed fun house. She had heard about these scary rides, where people pop out of hidden walls to jump scare the patrons. She nudged Frank in the side and indicated towards the rides. He nodded simply and they headed out, finally his hand falling away from her body, giving her a moment to breathe again without feeling like a butterfly pinned down by a dragon.

Frank wasn't a dragon to her—but her sexual desire for him, well that was. She had desired him so long that she burned whenever he touched her now. She burnt hot and red, her thighs warming, her stomach tensing and her womanhood literally wetting at the mere sound of his husky voice. She wouldn't give—wouldn't cave. And deciding she rather be scared than sexually aroused, headed straight for the horror fun house.

Frank hesitated when they approached. It had the clown It, from Stephen King's horror book, on the face of the ride, grinning down at them from a height with his massive, snarling teeth. No one was in line for the ride and yet she could hear screaming from inside the black door and the hooded figure sitting outside of it.

"I don't think so," Frank grabbed her arm and began leading her away.

"Oh totally," Karen retorted and slipped out of his grasp into the empty line.

"Karen, c'mon."

"What, is the big bad Frank…" she glanced at the hooded line attendant and hesitated, deciding it wouldn't be a great idea to say his last name. "Afraid of a kid's ride?"

"I'm not going in there." He looked exasperated and yet serious.

"Fine, I'll see you at the exit."

His jaw muscle flexed, "You ain't going in there alone, either."

She folded her arms over her chest, jutting her hips out, waiting. "Well…?"

He rolled his eyes and with pure frustration on his face, got into line with her. Grinning, feeling like she'd won this round of whatever game they had been playing all night, handed the tickets over to the hooded form and he accepted them. With a push of the button, the door creaked open. Excitement raced through her as she was about to step inside first, Frank stopped her and protectively took the lead. She sighed, rolling her eyes. It was just a stupid kid's ride, she thought, nothing to fear but costumed teens and creepy music.

As the door closed behind them, the hooded operator of the door pulled out his phone and texted. "They're inside the horror fun house."

The text messenger responded: "Lock the doors. Leave. Payment is in your car."

_**TBC**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Oh so your callin' the shots now, is that it?" Franked asked with a cocky smirk as they stood at the beginning of the ride, which happened to be a darken hallway with creepy sounds. "Just cuz you're some tough chick who can shoot an air gun?" He seemed unperturbed by the horror effects of the ride. Which made sense, he'd seen and experienced much worse in his life.

She gaped in surprise. Frank rarely ever teased her and the smile on his face sent shivers coursing down her back. God that smile! She wished he'd smile more just for her—only for her. Heart beating fast, she crossed her arms over her chest and titled her chin up in defiance, "What? You don't like it when I take charge?"

Something dark and sensual flickered in his eyes. She nearly let out a groan. Oh no, he wasn't gonna do that again to her, she told herself. Without waiting, and not wanting to get ensnared in his sexual heat, she pushed past him into the darken hallway. "It's a ride! C'mon, haven't you ever been on one of these…" Her words were cut short as a wall panel unexpectedly opened, revealing a skeleton and a screaming automated voice. She jumped slightly, hand to her chest and laughed.

The panel slammed shut and a creaking sound came from up ahead, along with other spooky sound. Frank was laughing, the lines around his eyes crinkled and his head shaking. "If this is what you want…" he waved his hand airily in front of her.

She nodded confidently and stepped boldly ahead which was a mistake as another panel from the edge of the floor opened and a skeleton hand reached for her ankles. She really jumped then and backwards, right into Frank's arms. Karen felt the vibration of his laughter through her body and let out a frustrated breath.

Before she could step away from him, his arms wrapped around her, engulfing her against him. She let out a moaning sigh, feeling her breasts heave upwards against his muscled arms. His face moved to her exposed neck, feeling the warm tickle of his breath on her skin. "If you let me, I'll protect you from the boogeymen, Karen. It's up to you…"

There was so much more meaning in his words than about a stupid fun house. She swallowed, her heart hammering so hard she wondered if he could feel it.

"I don't need anyone's protection anymore."

"I know," he whispered gravely. "I've seen you shoot."

She let out a small laugh and it was then she felt him kiss her neck, it was soft—achingly soft. "Whether you want me or not, I'll be here—I ain't going anywhere. Not again."

Shocked by his words, the feel of his lips press against her neck, she finally lost it—he'd tipped her over the edge of oblivion. She turned in his arms, wrapped her hand around his neck and kissed him. It was fast and brutal, and oh so hot. He returned it with vigor, hands moving quickly up her sides, fisting at her loose shirt around her back, pressing her roughly against him. She felt his hardness against her, his arousal full and so stimulating to her senses her hand moved down his incredible chest, over his jeans…

He broke the kiss instantly, grabbed her wrist with a yank and began walking back towards the entrance.

"Frank!" She said, "What are you doing?"

"We're leaving. We're going home. Now."

"But we paid for the ride."

His hand reached the doorknob and attempted to turn it, but it was locked. He cursed and pounded on the door, "Hey—we're done. Let us out."

She shook her head, "That's not how it works. We have to finish the ride. They probably hear people crying all day long to get out and won't let them, well until they get to the end. It's part of the experience."

He grunted angrily and shot her a look over his shoulder, his gaze burned with that heat mixed with frustration. Karen sighed, knowing exactly where his mind was going because her mind was right there with him. King sized bed. Naked. Naked. Naked.

Frank seemed to understand then what he had to do, nodded once and stepped to her, careful not to touch her as he whispered darkly, "We're finishing what we started."

She swallowed, her belly quivering with sudden butterflies. Karen knew he wasn't talking about the ride but rather their unfortunately brief make out session. He slipped his hand into hers and headed back down the hallway. His pace was fast which made her laugh under her breath, thoroughly enjoying the urgency and determination from Frank. Now he knew what she had been feeling for over two years for him. The taunt sexual desire and not able to do a damned thing about it. Yeah, it was frustrating as all hell. _Welcome to my world, Frank_, she thought.

It had only been after that moment in the hospital with him that she believed he didn't want her—didn't want a relationship—couldn't love her. Karen worked hard after that to let him go. She knew how to do it already, she did it with Matt and before that her father. Except Frank. She struggled getting him out from under her skin and buried deep within her heart. And now he told her that he wanted her and didn't plan on leaving her again. Her heart skipped a beat.

Unable to think more about his words, Frank found the hidden door to the next room. Frank went in first. It was a fake operating room mixed with a butcher's room. Hooks dangled from the ceiling. Props of medical tools drenched in blood lined the far wall. The lights flickered on and off in this room and it was hard to navigate in the darkness. There was a sudden scream and bang, making her jump again. After everything she's been through, she just assumed she had thicker skin than this. _Apparently not_, she realized.

Frank had a tight hold on her hand, leading the way through the dark flickering room. Another shriek and sounds of slicing surrounded them.

"Least favorite room so far," she said as he found the exit to the room. They walked into an oddly shaped room, lined with mirrors.

"How is scary?" Frank commented.

She glanced at her reflection in one of the mirrors and gasped as she stared directly into the eyes of the clown It. Frank pulled her close and investigated the mirror she had looked at, and shrugged unimpressed, "Got it."

He continued, moving through some of the mirrors ahead of her, looking as though he were walking through a mirror itself, but it led down another path. They reached the end of the mirror room and Frank paused, searching for a way out. He pushed into one of the mirrors, expecting it to open but when it didn't, he frowned. "This has to be the way out."

She titled her head over his shoulder to assess. "Maybe its behind us somewhere."

She noticed this room was quieter than the other rooms so far, which was interesting since from what she knew of these kinds of places, the purpose was to always keep people on their toes, always scared. She wasn't scared. Something felt wrong.

Frank let go of her hand and shoved with his whole body against the mirror door. She instinctively reached for her purse, wondering if something was blocking the door—keeping them inside.

It was then she felt it and heard the cord snap as it slipped around her neck, drawing her backwards. She gasped, holding onto her purse, her other hand reaching for the noose around her neck. A panel behind Frank opened and a huge, mountain of a man dressed in all black grabbed him from behind, hurling him up into the air like a paper doll and slamming him into the hard cement ground. Karen felt the earth tremble somehow with that hit.

Frank glanced up from the floor, blood already oozing from his face near his eye.

"Karen!" He yelled angrily, seeing what was happening to her.

He dodged the stomping foot just in time, rolling to his side and then to his feet. Frank attempted to reach for her, but was blocked by the over-sized man with one hard punch to the side of the face. Frank shook his head, as though trying to clear the stars from his eyes, then turned towards the mountain and launched himself onto him. They fell backwards into the opened panel the man had emerged from, disappearing from her sight. Fear normally would've gripped her in a situation like this. Instead—it was anger.

Anger that the people attacking her and went after her man. Interrupting a perfect evening so far. Fuck these people.

Karen's eyes began to water now and her breathing labored. She closed her eyes instinctively and listened for the sounds of her trainer's voice. The one she had been working with almost every day since the bomber held her hostage almost two years ago. If it hadn't been for Frank, she would've died that day. Karen had decided then she would no longer be a victim. She would be a fighter too. She had been in more dangerous situations than most and it was time she could protect herself other than with a gun.

Eyes firmly closed, her mind going back to her memory of her trainer holding her in a similar way, attempting to knock her out with a choke hold.

"_What are you going to do now, Karen…?" His voice asked calmly._

Drop. Karen lifted her feet off the floor and let her entire body drop like dead weight, assuming the person that held her wasn't as large as the one that went after Frank. He wasn't. She managed to knock him off balance with her maneuver, making them both tumble to the ground backwards. She landed on his chest, felt the noose loosening enough for her to now regain control. Pulling her elbow upwards, she slammed it down hard onto his pelvic bone. He groaned, she did it again and again until she heard a crack.

Rolling to her side, she yanked the wire off and scrambled to her feet. Only to be greeted by another man dressed in all black, who attempted to grab her. She shot the heel of her palm upwards towards his nose and scattered it with one strike. Blood gushed onto the stranger's face, his expression transforming into a cringing rage as his hand shot out, grabbing her braided hair and yanking her down onto her knees.

Tears formed at her eyes from the stinging pain of her hair being ripped from her skull. Her hand moved to her purse and without hesitation, grabbed the gun—her gun. The same exact version of her gun she had trained on. David's best gift so far as he had sent it to her in her box of clothes.

She pulled it out, aimed and fired. The man let out a roaring cry as his kneecap exploded and he toppled down, releasing his hold on her. She fired again, this time into his head, killing him instantly. She didn't have time to regret killing someone. She didn't have time to think about any of this—only move. Move fast and get to Frank.

The man she had escaped from earlier now reached for her and the gun. She lunged to the side and tumbled into a roll. She rolled too far and hit a mirror. It wobbled above her due to the force of her hit and shattered, glass shards falling dangerously around her. She covered her head the best she could but felt a slicing sting of a shard knicking her cheek.

Karen was about to get to her feet when she saw the man and his fucking wire cord run limp directly at her. She lifted her gun and fired, stopping him in his tracks with a bullet to the chest. She fired one more round until he crumpled dead to the floor.

"Karen!" Frank's voice boomed from another room. Fear, all she heard in his voice was fear. Fear that something happened to her and that the gunfire was from them, not her. She heard fighting now, somewhere close. Karen jumped to her feet and headed towards the sound. Unexpectedly a panel slid open, activated by her movements and a skeleton shook and rattled at her. Her gun was instantly trained on it, ready to fire.

Before she could even curse in frustration, her body was being propelled sideways. Unable to stop herself, she fell expecting to slam into something, but the panel slid open and she fell into another room, landing hard on her side. The gun skittered out of her hand on impact. She turned to see her attacker. It was a woman, her hair cut short, tattoos snaking up her neck and wrists. She was dressed in a black suit, looking the part of an assassin. Karen instantly moved to the gun. The woman managed to stop her with a slaming hit of a pointed heeled boot into her stomach. Karen let out a cry of agony. Her already injured side burned painfully, Karen's vision blurred momentarily, losing sight of the gun.

The woman rolled her onto her stomach with a push of her foot, straddled her and slipped a cord once more over her neck.

"Fisk wants you alive, little birdie. We won't kill you. Just your boyfriend," she breathed into her ear in a thick Russian accent.

Karen stretched, her fingers grazing the handle of the gun but not enough to take it in hand.

"Up we go," the woman whispered and stood, yanking the cord and Karen's neck backwards, forcing her feet to move to relieve the pressure. She scrambled awkwardly to her feet and was about to use the same tactic of dead weight as before, but the woman dug her fingers into Karen's side, into the wound.

She let out a gargled scream, the cord digging into her throat.

"Walk, birdie. If you try to fly away again, I'll rip you open."

A sudden loud crash came from behind them. Karen couldn't see what was happening but felt the woman's grip loosen on her side just enough for her to move. She dropped once more, this time twisting away from the hand and with every ounce of strength in her legs, jumped backwards. The woman and her flew hard into the wall behind them, crashing through the panels.

The woman laid above her, the noose gone but before Karen could move—the woman wrapped her legs around her, tightening like a snake, compressing her chest. Karen gasped, hands reaching blindly around the fallen panels and… glass from a broken mirror. She found a shard, gripped it tight, refusing to feel the pain in her hand as it sliced her own palm open as she slammed it into the woman's upper thigh.

The woman screamed, the muscle spasming enough for Karen to escape. She stabbed her again, this time in the artery in her inner thigh, dragging the blade through. The woman screamed and knocked Karen off her with a side kick. Karen tumbled backwards and moved to the darken corner to where her gun landed. It was still there. She grabbed it and realized then that the crashing sound from earlier had been Frank. Who was now locked in a blow-to-blow fight with the same massive giant from before. Both of their faces were bloodied, swallowed and dirty.

The giant swung for Frank, who ducked and landed a solid blow to the man's kidneys. The mountain of a man barely flinched. Karen couldn't get a clean shot with Frank in the way. She had maybe three shots left.

"Frank!" Karen yelled, attempting to get his attention. Which did, with consequences. He looked towards her and was slammed by a front kick so hard, he was knocked off his feet.

The giant now had eyes for her. She aimed and fired. He took the bullet in the chest, but kept coming. She fired again, no effect—he was wearing body armor she realized too late. His head was barreled down low as he took charge at her. Without thinking, relying solely on her years' worth of training, moved, running directly at him.

"Karen!" Frank's voice was taunt with fear.

She gripped the gun, one bullet left and she was gonna make it count. She slammed her body into his on-coming body. It felt like two trains colliding. He barely stopped, but long enough to lean upwards in attempt to grab her, exposing his neck. She slammed the butt of the gun into his throat, crippling him for a moment. Which was all she needed. In one fluid motion, Karen moved with the grace of a ballerina and lethal killer. With her free arm she gripped the back of his neck, using all the strength in her body to push him down, as she leapt upwards, grabbing his torso with her legs, wrapping around him like a vein and twisting her hips and arm downwards, forcing him to spin onto his back, landing hard beneath her. Gun still in hand, she aimed at his stunned face and fired the last round. His limp body fell heavily around her.

Panting, hand still gripping tight to the gun, she glanced over to Frank who stared at her in utter shock. Karen got to her feet and noticed the Russian assassin attempting to crawl out of the room, but she was losing so much blood, she wouldn't be getting far. Frank got to his feet, moving to her instantly, gently touching her bloodied face with his own bloodied and bruised hands.

"Are you okay?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded dazedly, "Are you okay?"

He nodded too and glanced over her shoulder to the dead man. "I ain't never seen you move like that before."

She inhaled sharply, "Let's just say I was really tired of being the damsel in distress. I took some self-defense classes."

He shook his head unconvinced, "Bullshit. That was more than a couple self-defense classes, Karen."

She wouldn't explain to Frank the full details of her training, not now at least. She hadn't told anyone she had been training. All the supposed protectors in her life—her father, Matt and even Frank—she couldn't trust them to save her. All she could rely on was herself.

Karen redirected her gaze to the woman as she told him, "She was sent by Fisk."

Frank cursed angrily. She walked over to the woman now, Frank right besides her.

"Anyone else know we're here?" Frank asked the woman.

She looked up at him and cursed at them in Russian.

Frank tisked disapprovingly down at her. "Let me ask this again…" He walked over to her side where her leg was bleeding out, placing his boot over the wound and pressed down into the glass shard still sticking out. She let out a scream. "You wanna answer my question now?"

"No—no one. The last location given to Fisk was the gas station just outside of Hell's Kitchen. He knows I found you—I did not tell him your location. Not yet. I intended to once I had you." She spat up at Karen, "You were supposed to be easy target."

"Not sorry to disappoint you," she replied coolly. "Why does Fisk want me?"

"Connection with Daredevil. Intimate it is suspected. Fisk enjoys killing family or lovers of his enemies, in front of his enemies. You are lover of the Devil."

Frank gritted his teeth, a horrible rage darkened his face, "Do you assassins ever fact-check? She ain't got nothin' to do with him."

Moving on instinct, Karen knelt by the dying woman, whose face had become white as a ghost. She reached for the woman's jacket pocket. The woman attempted to hit her, Frank kicked her pathetic hand away and drove his foot harder into her leg. She cried out once more. Karen took the assassins' phone and attempted to open it, but it was locked. It required a fingerprint. She grabbed her hand and using her thumbprint, unlocked the phone. She went into the settings and changed the password to a digit code.

She scrolled through the text messages and found the one sent to 'Fisk' but labeled Unknown. The messages collaborated the assassins' story, and she hadn't made any recent calls to the unknown number. "She was telling the truth. Fisk doesn't know where we are—but he has this." She showed Frank the license plate picture the woman had taken while they were at the gas station.

He nodded and turned to the assassin. "What's the bounty up to? Fisk is a big spender, so I know there are others waitin' to take a bite."

The woman's breath was short now, her life fading. "Half a mil."

Frank whistled.

"How many other assassins are after me?" Karen asked, her heart racing at the mere thought.

"Fisk is selective. Send only one at a time." She coughed, blood pooling in her mouth. "I am the best…"

"The best that just got their ass kicked. How did you find her?"

"I followed the Devil. His injuries made him slow… stupid."

Frank cursed again. The woman's breath caught but she continued, as if she were bragging, despite her own inevitable death in this horror fun house. "I am great tracker—I found you. It is why Fisk sent me first…"

Karen realized this woman was literally on her last few breaths and immediately turned away, unable to watch someone else die tonight. She'd had her fill of bloodshed. Frank muttered something to the Russian assassin and with a hard hit, she heard a neck cracking.

She barely stirred at this violent sound as a sudden fatigue washed over her. It was then she noticed the warmth stickiness of her blood that had pooled in her hand. She checked the assassins' phone one final time, deeming it useless now, but maybe David aka Mirco could hack it. She opened her purse, slipping both the empty gun and phone inside.

"We need to go," Frank said sternly.

"I killed those people." More in shock than in horror. For some reason she didn't feel regret—or remorse. She felt nothing.

"You defended yourself. And if you didn't kill them, I would've."

She swallowed thickly, instantly feeling the burn in her throat from multiple attempts of strangling her tonight. "Okay, let's go."

Frank, as though now unable to help himself, touched her lower back protectively as they headed towards the destroyed mirror room, knowing they would find their exit now. Even if they had to break down more panels to get through. "By the way, where'd you get the hand-cannon?"

"David." She replied. "It was in my clothes box."

He shook his head, surprised. "It's been in your purse this whole time?"

She nodded.

He smiled unexpectedly, "I'll have to thank him for that."

_**TBC**_


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks everyone who commented! I'm glad everyone is enjoying the story so far. This chapter is... hot- readers beware ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Frank stared at himself in the mirror. A deep, long sigh settled into his aching stomach muscles. The fuckin' Mountain goon nearly took his kidneys out with a few blows to the torso. He wondered if he'd be pissing blood the next couple of days. That asshole threw him through a few walls and knocked him around enough to rattle the floating meat between his ears too. Frank hadn't received an ass kicking like that in a while. And damn, he didn't miss it.

Trying not to think of how epically he sucked in that fight, he focused on the bruises forming under the light of the bathroom. He was naked having just got out of the shower, tenderly pushing on the black and blue skin, making sure nothing was broken. The worse scrape he got was the cut on his eyebrow and his knuckles. Applying the disinfected gently, he let out another sigh. The shower had washed away the dirt and blood, his skin enjoying the soothing relief of the cool water. But it didn't wash away the unsettled feeling in his gut.

They were attacked tonight by Fisk. If Frank listened to the vengeance yelling inside of him right now—he'd go after that son of a bitch and kill him. Nobody touched his girl and got away with it. Including the untouchable Fisk. He seethed through his clenched teeth and muttered a curse. Except—he had to protect her. Storming back into Hell's Kitchen, guns blazing, wasn't exactly the best plan, especially when she was still in danger.

Damn, he thought, the night had been going perfectly before that bullshit ambush. Karen was receptive to every touch, leaning into him like a cat in heat. And God, how he burned for her. Her taste, her touch, her moaning sighs as he kissed her. They should've left after the concert. But it wasn't their fault for wanting to enjoy the night either. It was fuckin' Fisk and his shitbag assassins that were at fault.

Frank wanted to check on her now but she was showering in her room, possibly do the same thing he was, assessing for any further damage on her beautiful body.

He rubbed a frustrated hand through his thick damp hair. He should've protected her. Should've been more prepared. If he had a gun, this wouldn't have happened. Frank berated himself bitterly, feeling like a complete fucking fool. Karen did most of the work, which had surprised the holy hell outta him. She had suddenly become John Wick with those lethal moves. Where had she learned that? Who was teaching her? He understood the why of it—she was tired of the heroes of the city saving her, being the 'damsel in distress'. Knowing Karen, that would probably not sit well with the stubborn blonde-haired beauty after a while. She was too independent to be reliant on others, he knew that about her on day one.

But this felt different to him somehow. Maybe because they had many conversations on the value of life, and her firm belief that the justice system needed to prosecute the criminals, not him. He'd killed, and Karen, the good girl that she was, didn't always approve. Until today, when they were put in danger, she had acted. She had killed.

Frank gripped the edge of the bathroom sink tight. He should've been the one that killed—not her. He couldn't spare her that violence. Guilt and anger tore through him, eating away at his very soul. Karen's hands were bloodied now. Just like him. Yet he always knew she had that violence within her. Felt it. Felt the darkness despite the glow of her heart for those around her.

He saw proof of her darkness tonight. Frank wasn't sure how he felt about it. A deep part of him however felt reassured, knowing she could protect herself now. That she was strong—lethal even when she needed to be and knew her way around a gun and in a fight. Another part of him felt an odd rush of excitement. He wondered if she ever wanted to wrestle with him, he thought naughtily. Naked, and in bed—he'd love to see those killer moves on him. God he was twisted, he thought with a shake of his head.

He walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, naked and refusing to dwell on what happened to them tonight. The cold beer he had opened before stepping into the shower sat waiting for him on his bedside table. He took a few swigs, calming his dark thoughts. He noted the box of clothes sitting on the foot of his bed and glanced at the TV screen. It was showing the outside perimeter of the house on six camera frames. No one was snooping outside or surveilling the house from the streets. The last camera was a wide-angle view of the beach below. The beach was empty.

When they finally made it out of the fun house earlier and had climbed into the van, Frank peeled out of the parking lot, fingers already dialing David on his phone. They had been burned. They had to move again, was his only thought.

_I must keep her safe. Whatever it takes_. He wouldn't let that happen again, not on his watch. Though considering the moves he saw in that fun house, Karen could take care of herself pretty damned good. But it didn't matter. She was his. And he wouldn't let these fuckin' bastards touch a single hair on her gorgeous head.

Frank informed David the events of the evening and what the assassin told them about Fisk. David didn't hesitate as he went online, checking the dark web for any chatter on Karen Page and also hacked into Fisk's financial planner's bank account, looking for any recent big payments. He found nothing. "Any other bright ideas of where we can hide from these assholes?"

David answered, "The beach house."

"We're burnt, genius. There's no way they don't know about the beach house. They followed us from that location to the carnival."

"Give me the number on the assassin's phone. And go to the beach house, Frank—trust me."

Frank asked Karen for the number for the dead assassins' number. She unlocked the phone and read off the number. "Got it," David announced, and Frank listened to fast key strokes. "Alright, I'm in." He paused a while until finally. "There's no incoming or outgoing calls to that phone number this evening—or at least the time of your arrival. The last message was of the van's license number to an untraceable burner phone."

"Fisk, she sent it to Fisk."

"Fisk hasn't made any new large payments—nothing to indicate he's on to your current location."

"He will be once those bodies are reported…" Frank muttered.

"Yeah, well in the meantime—the beach house is your safest bet." It was then David told him to return to the beach house and activate the alarm and safety system once they were inside.

Frank had no idea what he was talking about, the beach house was compromised but David reassured him that the house was safe and then told him how to 'activate' the house. Frank parked the van inside the garage, as instructed by David, then in a keycode inside the house, entered in a number he told him. Karen jumped slightly as the doors surrounding the house were locked down with steel deadbolts on an automated locking system—something Frank had heard casinos and banks using, but never in houses. Then the windows surrounding the house shuddered as massive steel panels dropped down on them, sealing them inside. Karen stared at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

"Is this why David choose this house?" She asked, suddenly realizing that this safe house, really was a safe house—not just some fancy beach rental.

"I guess so."

David reassured him that he would be monitoring the web and Fisks' activities the rest of the evening and told them to get some rest. David linked the television in the front room and to Frank's TV to the outside cameras surrounding the property should any asshole assassins attempt to get in.

Frank now stood in his bedroom—wondering. Wondering about how this night could've turned out differently. What if she didn't have the gun? What if she didn't save him and beat literal ass tonight? What if they had just left…? Come back here, shared a bottle of wine and a bed, together. He shook his head and let out a dark chuckle. Right, well the assassins would've broken into the beach house while he was butt ass naked and having probably the best sex of his life with the woman that haunted his dreams every night for the past year.

He picked up his beer again, taking another drink, noting both guns on each nightstand, the gun tucked in the closet, under the bed, and planted in other varies locations around the house. He wouldn't be unprepared again.

There was a soft tap at his bedroom door. Heat rushed through him instantly. Frank snagged the damp bath towel from his shower and wrapped it around his waist.

"It's open," he said.

Karen opened the door and stepped inside his bedroom. His breath caught in his chest at the mere sight of her. She wore a simple night dress, which was an off-white color that stopped just above her knees, and was held up by delicate straps. He swallowed and reached for his beer again, needing anything that would take the edge off.

"How you holdin' up?" he asked thickly.

Her hair was damp from the shower, her skin glowing and only a few areas he could see were bruised—her knees, her upper left shoulder.

"How's your wound?" he asked, indicating to her stomach.

She had been staring at him, her eyes burning tracks into his skin as she seemed to be looking right through. Past the bruises, the scars, the skin that contained him and straight through to his soul. The pale blues of her eyes reminded him of the sky—open and freeing. Yet tonight, her eyes held a light he'd seen only a few times before in her. Determination. Her gaze pulled away and leveled with his for a moment.

"I'm okay, nothing serious." She replied coolly.

"Good, that's good." He felt suddenly nervous. Like some school kid asking the girl he liked out to prom. He gritted his teeth and looked away from her, unable to see the peak of her nipples through the thin dress, or the glint in her eyes.

"How are you?" She asked from behind him.

He nodded, "Fine—nothin' I ain't had before. Few bruises that's all. Could've been worse had you not been carrying that hand-cannon."

He listened to her movements as she walked from the doorway to the TV screen, looking only for a moment at the cameras. "Do you think we're safe?"

He grunted, "I think this fortress will keep us safe for tonight, and David said he'd call if he found anything. I doubt anyone could get through those steel panels."

She nodded and moved her hand to the side of the TV and turned it off. He watched her closely now, unsure for her intention. She walked to the opposite side of his room, the only thing between them was his bed. His attention was riveted to her—watching, waiting. She merely stared at him too, her own breath seeming to catch in her chest and her breasts heaved beneath the dress. Frank realized then what she was doing—meeting him on equal ground.

To be a woman to his man.

To be _his_ woman, he thought with a near growl.

He watched as she reached to one of the straps on her dress and pushed it down her shoulder. His groin instantly tightened and ached. Karen was giving herself to him tonight—all he had to do was accept.

And dear God he would. Frank dropped the towel from his waist and pulled the sheets backs from the bed, eyes still trained on her. She watched him too, her cheeks flushing with excitement at the sight of his nudity and eagerness. It was then she slipped her fingers over the other strap and let her dress drop to the floor. It was a moment that would stay with him the rest of his life. Karen baring herself to him, vulnerable and naked. Beautiful and demanding him to be his equal with merely her actions—not her words.

Something deep and unyielding stirred inside of him and began to shift. He felt the wall that he had built around him, to keep him safe from attachment—from love, crumble. The stones breaking apart—the wall collapsing. His heart bare and as naked as her. It scared him. In fact, it terrified him. Yet it felt right.

Frank, without waiting any longer slid into the bed and held his arm out to her. Karen smiled coyly and joined him, her long body pressed against his. She was warm and soft, fitting perfectly besides him. He wanted to engrave himself upon her skin—her bones—her soul. She would not leave this bed without knowing fully that she was his. He would make certain of it.

They both reached for one another at the same time. They rolled into one another, his chest pressing against her breasts, her leg wrapping around his waist.

"Karen," he whispered softly, pressing his face into her neck, inhaling her scent. "God, Karen…"

She gripped him tight in her embrace, feeling her lips kissing the side of his face. Without warning, she rolled her hips into him and he was flat on his back in the bed, and she now straddled him. His cock that had already been hard, now throbbed between his legs. He reached for her, touching her outer thighs, trailing her fingers up her skin and gripping her hips tightly. Karen surprised him once again and slipped out of his grasp, her body moving over his and her sweet, incredibly sexy lips trailing over his stomach down his hip bone and…

He gasped and gripped the bedsheets. He realized in that moment as her lips descended over his thick, full erection, that she intended to mark him too—that he wouldn't be leaving this room with the ability to deny her ever again. She engulfed and devoured him, the warmth and wet of her tongue and mouth making his mind go blank as he could only feel, every sensation, ever suck, every kiss and lick. He groaned huskily in his throat as she tormented him with her skilled and leisurely sucking of his cock. She was taking her time—enjoying herself and watching him with an intense, sensuous gaze.

He gritted his teeth, jaw flexing as he felt her hand move to his balls, and another between his legs. Frank instantly moved, knowing if she continued touching and sucking him—he'd embarrass himself on their first night. He didn't intend to cum before her. He lifted her up and off him, and using his strength, flipped her onto her back and climbed on top of her.

Their mouths reached for one another at the same time. She let out a small gasping moan as he pushed her legs open, placing his hips between hers as he conquered her mouth. His lips matched her power, their tongues battled. She gripped the side of his face, and he held on to the back of her head—both refusing to back down or give up their position of dominance. He groaned as her hand reached between them, touching his cock once more.

Sneaky, sexy goddess—trying to destroy his sanity. He pulled away from her touch and mimicked her moves from earlier, sliding down her body—careful of her wound, as he kissed her breasts, sucking hard on her nipples, before moving downwards to her stomach, trailing hot wet kisses to her womanhood. He wasn't sure whose groan was louder—hers, or his as he nestled his face into her, kissing the skin between her opened legs before using his tongue and pressing into her.

Karen bucked instantly, nearly crushing him, which only made him chuckle darkly as he grabbed her hips and held them tight. She wouldn't be able to move an inch with the grip he had on her—let the torment begin, he thought, his heart beating with wild excitement as he devoured her womanly center.

"Frank…!" She gasped and groaned, her hips fighting against his hold.

He held her down, kissing, licking, sucking.

"Oh God…" she cried, a guttural groan escaping her lips.

His skilled tongue moved and dove inside her, taking his fill—tasting her core. She moaned and reached for him, attempting to pull him away. He wouldn't budge and the more she fought, the lighter his touch became, taunting her until she was literally bucking—her hips arching up demandingly. He smiled and kissed her once more, slipping his tongue upwards to her clit and suckly her.

Her breath was scattered and uneven, her back arched, her head pushed into the pillow and eyes firmly closed and bottom lip clenched by her teeth as though attempting to stay back the orgasm that demanded her to be release. God she was fucking beautiful. Perfect, he thought. And so incredibly hot. His own arousal was now fully peaked at the mere sight of her. And knowing that this strong, confident, incredible, smart woman was giving herself to him—allowing him to touch her, taste her, and fuck her. God, his cock twitched unbearably hard now. He didn't deserve her. She deserved a king—someone good and not tainted with so much violence and loss. But here they were, wrapped in each others arms, desperate and willing.

Frank swallowed, unable to continue this prolonged torment between them. They had waited long enough for this moment—fucking years. And he couldn't wait a second longer to take her. He pulled away from her, lifted his hips up and without waiting—without warning, slid his heavy, hard cock into her. She gasped and so did he.

Her eyes fluttered open and she instantly arched upwards, forcing his cock all the way inside her, filling her to the brim. He moaned, the sensation of her muscles contracting around him, the slick and warm wetness of her accepting him. His hips instinctively moved. But it wasn't soft or gentle—it was hard and brutal. The pound of his body against her, vibrated through them both. Karen let out a groaning cry, his heart racing and the tingle in his groin already beginning.

Karen reached up and pulled him close to her, clutching to him, digging her nails into his back, wrapping her incredible legs around him. Frank moved his lips up from her neck, to her mouth—kissing her long and hard—branding her and fucking her. They would make love later, he promised himself. But this—this was pure and desperate need. A need that had built between them until they both were starving for one another.

She whimpered against his open mouth and then he felt her unravel beneath him. Her lips fell away as she arched one last time, her neck falling back, eyes closed in bliss and face shone with ecstasy as she climaxed. Frank felt the edge—the edge of this moment. The edge of a cliff that he now stood over. Karen had always been his oblivion—his death—his life. The walls around his heart shattered and nothing mattered but her and him, in this moment.

Heart aching with the agony of love. Frank knew it then. He loved her. Loved her since the moment he met her. Felt drawn and connected to her more than anyone else. She had seen past the wounded, lethal and broken solider and saw _him_. She had always seen him. Unable to stop his own climax, he thrust deep inside her one last time and released. His orgasm tore through him, ripping him open until there was nothing left of his heart—he'd given it all to her.

He pulled her close and she seemed to know too, seemed to understand without words as they held each other, his cock still inside her—connected. This was love, he felt it again, something he thought had been lost to him forever. But here it was. Unable to stop the tears at the corner of his eyes, Frank buried his face into her neck and held her tight. He felt home. He felt healed.

_**TBC**_


	14. Chapter 14

**So sorry for the long abscene to this story! August was not a good or easy month. So for my much needed and overdo self-care, I finally finished this story. Thank you everyone for your comments & support- as well as your patience. **

**Chapter 14**

Karen's eyes fluttered open, the bedroom was dark and there was no sunlight peaking through the window because of the steel panels so she wasn't sure the time. But the second her eyes open, and she felt the weight of Frank's arm across her chest—her mind was completely alert. She turned her head and glanced at the sleeping man besides her. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight.

God damnit, she thought, he was gorgeous even when he was drooling. Not that he was drooling—but he was sound asleep, his eyes firmly shut and his breathing a calm steady beat. Her heart fluttered stupidly again and she gasped a little at the memory of their night together. His sexy gasps, guttural moans, his gaze burning though her like a wildfire as they love to her multiple times. The first time they fucked—it was hard and out of control and… perfect. The way he held her, gripped her against him as if he could never let her go made her feel like—his. She let herself believe it, if only for a night. In his arms, the world fell away. It was just them. Not their baggage, not their pain, not their lives—just them and this moment.

The second time he came to her, as though unable to keep himself away too long before touching her, sucking on her nipples and kissing every inch of her skin until she was nearly coming off the bed with lust. She sighed, thinking of how gentle and incredible he had been, making love to her slowly and thoroughly, meeting her every need and being a generous lover. She hadn't anticipated that from him. After she orgasmed, she sank into a deep blissful state of relaxation—almost believing that it could be like this with him. Always.

_Finally_, was all she could think. _Finally_. She had her night with the man that haunted her fantasies on dark restless nights. The man she burned for and now—her expression harden and her breath caught. Now it would be over. Really, truly over. Their curiosity and pleasure had been had.

Karen knew deep down that he would not love her like he did his late wife and children—that they were irreplaceable, and he had murdered so many because of the pain that ate away at his soul.

Karen was not them. She would never be. And she couldn't be with a man that didn't love her. Frank—Matt—her father. All men incapable of loving her for just her. Heart aching in her chest and unable to lie besides him, Karen carefully slid out of bed, gathered her night dress and slipped it on. She tucked her hair behind her ear, searching Frank's sleeping expression to see if her movement had awoken him. He was out like a light.

_Who am I kidding?_ She thought suddenly, her hand pinching the brim of her nose and rubbing over her eyes. She may believe he could never love her—but damnit has she not fallen right back into loving him. And fuck, it hurt. She let him in, again. Opening an old wound she had attempted to heal for the past few months after his rejection. She felt herself bleeding internally now. Her heartstrings ripped and forever changed.

She loved him.

Karen felt the tears form at her eyes and headed out the bedroom, back to her own room and showered—desperate to get the feeling, smell, sensation of Frank from her skin. She wondered if she could scrub her wound clean again… if it was even possible.

After last night, she realized, lying there besides him, glowing from the sex and the kisses and the feel of him so open and tender… she would love him the rest of her life.

_Karen_, she thought bitterly_, you are an absolute fool!_ She slammed the shower off, grabbed a towel. Barely dried off, she pulled on her clean underwear from her box, the jean shorts from yesterday and a new bra and white tank top. She pulled a brush through her hair, feeling angry—angry at herself. Angry at wounding herself knowingly this time.

After almost being killed, it made her realize how precious this life was and the people in it. Frank was her person. He had been for years now. She loved him when she fought for him on his defense team to spare his life. She felt connected to him the first day she met him, strapped down and handcuffed to a friggin hospital bed. Really, she should've paid attention to those red flags. But like a moth to a flame, she gravitated to him whenever he was around. Then when he disappeared, her world shattered. She hadn't realized it until he showed back up in her life and in her apartment—when he was about to leave her again, she couldn't stop herself, just like she couldn't stop herself last night, hugging him tightly, feeling his steady heartbeat and knowing—knowing right then and there, she loved him.

She remembered pulling away nervously, unsure and scared by her own emotions towards him—how powerful they had been and life altering. She thought she had loved Matt, found out the hard way that it hadn't lasted long enough to become anything meaningful. But with Frank… everything, every encounter, every touch, every moment—meant something to her.

Even though Frank could never love her back, she would love him, show him what it would be like to let her love him if just for a night. Now the night was over. Back to reality.

She wiped away another tear and pulled her hair into a ponytail, striding out the room and into the kitchen, needing coffee and a distraction. Anything to stop the dull stabbing feeling in her heart. She began brewing a pot of coffee and as the machine ticked to life, Karen grabbed the remote from the counter and walked into the living room, noting that the cameras still surveyed the outside of the beach house. Still no nighttime or morning visitors. Good, she thought and flipped on the normal television, wondering if there would be any news on the shootings last night.

The local news station was on commercial break, so she waited, noting the time—7:43am. A long sigh escaped her lips as she got to her feet and grabbed the first cup of coffee from the pot. It was hot and fresh, tantalizing her senses as she sat back down on the couch.

"Welcome back to KCRA News- we're covering the local carnival shooting that happened last night. 4 are reported dead and unidentified so far…" the female anchors voice said, images of the carnival fun house were being displayed with yellow caution tape and police surrounding the building. Karen felt a sudden rush of panic yet knew they wouldn't be able to trace this back to her or Frank. Fisk was careful with his assassins and considering she was missing, presumed dead, she didn't worry too much about the situation. "Police commented that it looks gang related—possibly the Russian mob. The carnivals owners say that they don't have security measures in place for something like this to happen… oh wait, breaking news out of New York—we're going to Scott Mason on scene."

Karen leaned forward on the couch, her interest peaked, coffee cup clutched in her hands.

"Thanks Linda, reporting live from Hell's Kitchen…"

Karen's stomach knotted instantly at the name of her city. She noticed the man stood before a familiar building—Fisk's building.

"Police have just announced that Wilson Fisk was found dead earlier this morning. His body was severely beaten and police are speculating that it was gang related due to Fisk's criminal history and…" Karen, tuned out the rest of the reported, carefully set her coffee down and walked back into Frank's room, her heart going a million miles a minute. She reached the bedstand where the burner phone he had been using was charging. She reached for it, but not before Frank grabbed her arm startling her out of her trance.

He was still half asleep, his eyes groggy and his expression frowning. He seemed to catch the seriousness in her gaze and eyes opened wider, searching her face. "What's wrong?"

Something inside her burned to curl up besides him, listen to that deep voice as he reassured her that she was safe again. Fisk was gone.

She swallowed, the comforting hum of his gravely voice soothing her frayed nerves. "Fisk is dead."

Frank sat up instantly, "Who?"

She shook her head and shrugged, "I'm not sure—I need to make a call."

His dark eyes sharpened like a knife over her. Karen wouldn't wait for his response, she unplugged the phone and walked out, returning to the living room to watch the news.

Her fingers dialed the number as she paced, waiting through the rings. Matt never answered her calls before—avoiding her, pretending she didn't care about him. Finally, he answered.

"Hello?"

She recognized his voice.

"Did you do it?" She questioned firmly, not wanting to play nice—wanting an answer.

He hesitated, "Karen?"

"Answer me—did you do it?"

He paused, it felt like the longest 30 seconds of her life. She heard Frank's footsteps come into the living room. She didn't turn to look at him, her pacing stopped, her heart in her throat. "Matt…"

He sighed heavily over the phone, "No—I didn't."

"The news said he was beaten—are you telling me now that this wasn't you?" Karen's voice shook angrily, her grip on the phone tightened. "If you're lying to me again, I swear Matt…"

"No! Karen, no, I'm not lying. I swear. I wasn't even near his building last night—I was with Foggy, working on a case late last night to re-prosecute Fisk. You can call Foggy, we didn't leave until, I dunno 2am."

She shook her head, feeling empty, hallow. But also—relief. Relief that Fisk was dead. She could return to her life, go back to work, go back to Hell's Kitchen.

Matt seemed to read her mind, "You can come back Karen… I would like to see you. I have a lot to make up for, I know. But I want too. I need to. I care about you and want to make—I want to try. I want you to forgive me. We can go to that Indian spot… as friends."

Karen felt the burn of tears behind her eyes and covered her mouth with her hand, realizing then she was trembling. She sighed heavily, "We'll see."

He hesitated. "Is Frank with you?"

Karen closed her eyes, the tears clearing. "He didn't do this either if that's what you're asking."

"How can you be sure?" He questioned like the lawyer he was. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

"He was with me last night."

Matt's silence was deafening. Finally, "Karen… he's dangerous. I don't think that being involved with him is a good idea…"

She hung up, refusing to listen to him. Matt had no right to make an opinion about her life. That was boundary, if she wanted to re-cross that bridge of friendship with him, he would have to respect.

"Murdock?" Frank asked from behind her, yet he seemed to already know the answer when she turned to him. He looked irritated, Karen corrected herself, pissed off. Was he pissed that she called Matt? She had a complicated past with him, sure—but Frank was also complicated. Maybe he was something else, she thought, maybe he was jealous. She shook her head at the thought.

Karen inhaled deeply and tossed the phone to him.

"Yeah," she said as he caught it and slipped it into his pocket.

Frank wore a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He was barefoot, hair tossled from sex and sleep. Stumble formed around his chin and cheeks. He seemed to scream sex just by standing there. _Jesus, Karen, get a grip_. She suddenly wished she wasn't absurdly attracted to this man. He could literally be wearing a bag and she would still burn to touch him.

"He do it?"

She knew what Frank was asking—did the Daredevil Murdock finally break his one rule and kill?

She shook her head, "No…"

"Of course not," he scoffed disappointedly and with a hint of disgust. "He never had to the stones to take me out."

"I would've." She said it so unexpectedly and softly, she wondered if she said it at all.

Frank caught her gaze and smiled lazily. "To kill me?"

She somehow laughed despite the heaviness of the situation. "No, I meant…"

"I know what you meant." Frank nodded slowly and finally, without judgement said, "Yeah, me too." Silence descended on them. He was the first to break, "You okay?"

She wasn't sure what to say—no, she wasn't okay exactly. She was relieved that Fisk was dead, glad she could return to her apartment, and job. But not okay.

"I need air," she breathed. "Do you think it's safe to open these?" She pointed to the steel panels. He simply nodded and walked back into the kitchen hallway that headed into the garage and punched in the number code from last night and the steel panels began rolling back upwards into their hidden vaults in the ceiling.

Karen reached for the sliding glass door and opened it. The chilly sea air felt refreshing on her flushed skin. She snagged the maroon blanket off the loveseat in the house before stepping fully outside onto the patio, wrapping it around her shoulders, inhaling deeply.

The sounds of the crashing ocean waves felt cathartic and chaotic. Karen closed her eyes and listened, absorbing the sounds—the sea, the birds, the silence of the town. She just received her ticket home—her freedom. Yet why did she feel so lost, she wondered. Images of last night with Frank fluttered through her mind and tears formed, slipping down her cheeks.

She would never get to be with him, not fully. Not lovingly. Their relationship wouldn't go past sex, he didn't have the space in his heart for her, and she knew that. And she wasn't sure she had room in her heart for anything less.

"You get to go home," he said from behind her. He handed her the cup of coffee she had poured herself earlier. "No one's chasing you anymore. At least no one to pay the bounty Fisk put out on you. I'll have David keep at it online for another day or two. And when we get back, I'll check out your apartment, just to be sure."

She wiped the tears away, unable to turn towards him, keeping her gaze on the blue sea and the crashing waves.

"I appreciate it," she murmured.

He paused, seeming unsure. "I figured you'd be happier about gettin' your life back. Maybe I was wrong…?" He said still not approaching her, as though careful with her now.

She shook her head, "Fisk may be dead, but the people who worked with him and for him, are still out there. And whoever killed him too."  
"And what is that to you? You gonna hunt them down and John Wick them?" He asked drily.

"No—I'm just a journalist."

"A damned fine one at that." His voice was lighter and genuine. She couldn't help the small smile pull at the corner of her lip but didn't say anything.

"You know, I look forward to your articles every other Tuesday. I have a whole routine." She heard him step closer, she stiffened. He continued even though he must have sensed she was holding back—not telling him everything. How could she? It would mean telling him what he already knew. That she loved him. That leaving this place meant returning to her bleak world without him and that she couldn't bear the thought.

"I wake up early, go for a run before the world comes to life. Then I see Curtis, my best friend for an early group therapy session. The run would clear my head, but therapy—hell, that's teaching me how to handle it when it all comes back. And lately, it's been less and less. Some days I even feel like a normal guy just goin' about my life." He chuckled lightly and sighed. "I doubt I could ever be normal—it's a fun thought when it comes though. Anyway… I head over to a local diner for breakfast and buy your paper on the way. And as I sit there, drinking my coffee—I read your words and it feels like you are right there with me. I can hear your voice, reading to me…" he paused and stepped to her now, unaware of the inner conflict raging inside her as he then wrapped his thick, heavy arms around her waist, drawing her close. Her hands tremble too much to hold the coffee cup and Karen carefully set it down the railing.

His breath was warm again her neck as he said, "It makes me miss you like crazy. My own personal torment. But I do it, makes me somehow feel closer to you. Some articles," he pushed his forehead into the side of her neck. "Damn, I worry about you… But I trust your instincts and knew that it wouldn't matter who tried to tell you. Karen Page wouldn't stop for nobody or nothin'."

In awe, Karen felt her body melt like butter against him at his words, not knowing he cared so much about her.

"Then, when the day was over—your voice still in my head, I'd go to bed imagining you—fantasizing about all the things I would do to you if you were mine." His lips burned a hot trail up her neck and behind her ear.

She stilled at his words now and straightened, pulling away from his warm embrace. "I offered it, a relationship…" the word caught in her throat, but she said it, "love. But you didn't want it Frank." Tears, unchecked and flowing, coursed down her face as she finally turned to him, angry and confused and hurt. "You denied me. And last night and this story- so what does this mean? You only want me for sex? Is that all I get? Am I not good enough for more?"

A harsh look of pain crossed his face, "God no- Karen. That's not what I meant."

"Then what do you want from me, Frank? You say one thing and then kiss me—make love to me- make me believe that we could be something. Something that we can't ever be because I could never be what you lost—I'm not your late wife, I'm not your family."

"You are my family," he declared gruffly. "You're my family, Karen. And I never asked you to fill Maria's shoes—I don't want that. I want you. You told me that day in the hospital that I couldn't keep loving ghosts, and you were right."

He stepped forward, cautiously, reaching out and stroked the tears away, holding her chin up to him. "You were right and I was too scared to admit it—to see it. I see you and me. We're gonna have our fair share of shit in this world to deal with and if there is anyone I want to be by my side—it's you. It's always been you since day one. The day you walked into my world, I was broken, so god damned broken, I couldn't see straight. But I saw you. You were a light in my darkness." He shook his head, furious with himself. "I was too blinded by my vengeance and my pain to see you. But at my core," he slammed a hand over his heart, "My heart—Karen, I lied to you that day in the hospital. I lied and I regretted the moment it was said. And I've regretted it every day since because I let you believe it."

His expression softened as he leaned forward into her, as if trying to make his soul commune with hers.

"I love you, Frank." She whispered, unable to stop the words tumbling from her lips. He drew her into him roughly, holding her tight against his body. "I'm not sorry I love you… I'm not." He hushed her, kissing her forehead, the side of her face.

"God damnit, Karen…" He breathed, pulling her back so that his gaze met hers and held. "You just had to say it first."

Confused, she stared at him. He smirked, "I love you—I've loved you for a long time, I was just too damned scared to admit it to myself. The last day I saw you was the hardest day of my life—you saved my life that day, reminding me that people like you cared about what happened to me and that I needed to let go of my ghosts."

"Why did you lie Frank?" she asked, holding him close, her heart racing so quickly at his words, she thought her heart would burst.

"I had to protect you from me—from my bullshit. I couldn't let your light be dimmed by my darkness. I wouldn't have survived if I did that to you."

A sudden laugh escaped her lips, tears streaking her face. "You're such an asshole."

He smiled almost sheepishly—childishly. "I know."

"You made me wait so long…"

He shook his head, his thumbs wiping away her tears. "I'm sorry baby. Let me make it up to you…" He kissed her. It was tender and gentle and so wonderfully, loving. She sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, letting her blanket fall away.

Karen pulled back briefly, staring into his heated gaze. "I won't replace your family, Frank—I'm not asking that of you and don't expect you to love me more or less."

His lips paused over hers, the heat between them growing with every passing minute. He loved her. That's all she needed to hear. That's all she ever wanted to know.

"Are you sure you're not an angel?" He asked playfully, dipping his face down over hers, taking her lips lightly. "I don't expect you to do anything but be you, Karen. I will love my family for the rest of my life—but their loss no longer needs to define the rest of mine. Or how I live it. I want you. Only you because I love you. You're my family now. Being with you has healed me more than you will ever know…"

She smiled through her tears and kissed him, filled with such glowing happiness that she barely noticed him lift her off her feet and carry her back into the house. But instead of his room—they went to hers, and the king-sized bed.

Frank carefully laid her down on the mattress, stepping away to pull his shirt over his head, exposing the toned definition of his muscles and scars of his naked chest. His eyes never left hers. A shiver coursed up her spine. He reached the draw strings of his sweatpants and she too reached for the button on her jeans and slid them and her panties down, kicking them off. His eyes heated over her nudity.

His sweatpants dropped to the floor, revealing his thick erection between his muscled legs. She swallowed, licking her lips in anticipation. Frank climbed on top of her, helping her out of her bra and shirt, tossing them to the floor. Stripped naked and exposed to one another, she touched him—her hands moving up his insanely gorgeous body and ass. He dipped his head and took her mouth into his, kissing her druggingly slow until she saw stars. She moaned against his mouth as he opened her lips, tonguing her, sucking her, mouth fucking her.

He abruptly pulled away the more responsive she came. She let out a whimper as he dropped his incredible mouth to her chest, lightly kissing her valley between her breasts and then the peaks, grazing softly over her taunt nipples. He was teasing her—toying with her.

She whispered his name pleadingly, her hips arching upwards into him—demanding his attention, demanding his heavy erection. He smiled up at her devilishly as he tongued her nipple, hands slipping down her sides and firmly grasping hold of her waist.

"Frank…" she pleaded.

He moved slowly, like a panther that had just caught its prey and was revealing in the torture before devouring it whole. He kissed her stomach all the way down… She gasped as Frank pushed her legs apart and placed himself over her womanhood, kissing her very center. Her fingers dug into the bedding, hips nearly bucking off the bed as his tongue slipping over her womanly folds and sensitive flesh. His lips moved like a desperate man for water as he plunged himself over and over her clit with his lips, his tongue—sucking and stroking until the fire in her belly burned with such intensity that she felt the pull of her unravel come faster and harder than she had ever experience.

She moaned his name like a mantra, desperate and pleading. Pleading to never stop—pleading to release her—to let her surrender fully to him.

He gripped her thigh and lifted it upwards, his tongue spearing deeper into her and gripping with his arm her body into him. She came, her hips lifting off the bed, her body jerking and her muscles contracted almost painfully in the hardest climax she'd ever had. Without waiting for her throes to stop, Frank lifted himself over her and slammed his hard erection into her. She let out a gasping cry as another orgasm ripped through her body. He pumped wildly and furiously into her wet heat, his hands brusing into her flesh of her hips, and moving upwards to her breasts. Karen couldn't stop—and Frank unraveled quickly himself due to the pure intensity of the moment. He pumped harder and harder until finally he came, releasing himself inside her—marking her—primally claiming her.

Her muscles clenched once more around him, sucking him deeper into her.

Frank dropped down on top of her, arms holding him above her as he slowly kissed alongside her jawline, his manhood still inside her.

"I love you…" he whispered huskily into her ear. "And we're not leaving this place until I've tasted every inch of you."

She captured his mouth, legs wrapping around him. "I'm so okay with that."

He smiled against her lips. "We have a lot to talk about…"

She knew what he meant. Figure out what they wanted to do with their new, loving relationship. She smirked, "how about we save that for the car ride back? Besides—we've talked for years, Frank. I want to make up for lost time."

With expert skill and grace, Karen angled her hips and with him still inside of her, flipped him onto his back. His erection came back to life instantly with her on top and taking charge.

"I don't intend to let you want out of here without me touching, tasting, sucking every inch of you…" she whispered seductively.

Frank hummed low in the back of his throat but kept smiling, placing his hands arrogantly behind his head, eyes dancing with delight, "Yes, ma'am."

_**TBC**_


End file.
